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GREENWOOD 

MEDITATIONS AMONG THE TOMBS 



BY I 

DANIEL PELTON 



' The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'ergave. 
Await alike th' inevitable hour : — 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 

Gray. 



Vol I. 

NEW YORK 
W. L. ALLISON COMPANY, Publishers 



TWO Copies receiveo. 

library of CoBfrttfc 
Office of tht 

M*y 1 7 1900 

»«»&l»t«r of Copyrtelitu 
SECOND COPY. /Olf/-^ 







.61690 




Copyright, 1896, 


AND 1899, 


BY 




DANIEIv PKIyTON. 



DcMcatiou. 

To those, if any, who chance to read this work 
and enjoy it, must thank the dear companion 
that 1 made my wife, (the joy of my life and 
helper in my old age,) who imagined she had 
found treasure in it that I had never fondly 
hoped to discover, and who insisted on making it 
public ; and to whom in justice I now dedicate 
this, my humble effort. 

Yours sincerely, 

THE AUTHOR, 



T HAD never given much thought to the publica- 
-^ tion of iny poems, and so to leave it to others if 
they thought it worth while after my death ; but at 
the continuous request of my wife I put fortli tliis 
selection, hoping to please some of my many friends 
who have expressed a desire to see some of my 
works ; most of them have been w- ritten years ago. 
In days whilom, when I drove my team afield try- 
ing to make two blades of grass grow where one had 
been, or inoculating some barren tree to make it 
produce rich and luscious fruit. Born a rhythmer, 
amid sublimer scenes, the music of the spheres beats 
time against the raptured brain and poured sweet 
poesy from the willing lips, and thus I wrote. 

For the better understanding of those who do not 
remember it, I would tell them at the time " Green- 
wood " was written there were two entrances, one for 
funerals and the other for visitors, w^e entered by 
the last named, near the Poets* Mound. 



CONTENTS. 



GREENWOOD. 

PAtlE 

Poets' Mound 13 

Invocation. Mc . Donald Clark 15 

Eulogy 17 

The Indian Mound 19 

George W. Browne's Tomb 22 

The Pomp of Wealth 24 

The Infant's Grave 26 

Mary C. Dike and John R. Paxton 38, 29 

Mrs. Mary Paxton 30 

Childhood and Age 31 

The Thought of Death 33 

The Funeral 34 

The Keeper's Lodge 36 

Lamentation 37 

The Beggar 38 

The Curse of Intemperance, 39 

Bay Grove Hill 40 

Reflections on the Wickedness of New York 41 

William Burbank and De Witt Clinton 44, 45 

Virginia Mingaiy and Dr. Wainwright 46, 47 

Charlotte Cauda 48 

Samuel D. Scudder 49 

Richardson 50 

The Volunteer Officers 51 

Battle Hill 53 

My Counti-y's Flag 54 

A. L. F. Cowdrey 55 

Samuel J. Gillespie 56 

The Pilot 57 

Victor Marcet 59 

True Happiness 60 

George and Albert Swan 63 

Moses Kimball 63 

Cozzens 64 

John M. Bruce 65 

Ocean Hill 66 

Family Burying-Grounds 67 

The Indian Spirit 69 

David Hale 71 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Rev. David Abeel 72 

Frederic Place 73 

On the death of Emma Mott 74 

Jonathan Goodhue 76 

Detached Thought 77 

Dr. Mitchell 86 

Chancellor Kent , 88 

Harpers 89 

German Grounds 90 

The Pilgrim Fathers 91 

Public Lots 93 

Piero Maroncelli 93 

Italy 94 

An Invective against Tyranny 95 

Dinah Depuv 96 

Fountain Hill 97 

The Firemen's Monument 98 

The Evil of Insubordination 100 

Conclusion 101 

Concluding Elegy. 102 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Dire Winter Rules the Dreary Realm 107 

Flow Gently, Sweet Wave 109 

The Clove 110 

The Rainbow 112 

The Setting Star 114 

The Seasons all Must Own their Bounds 116 

I've Seen the Sullen Winter Sun 117 

The Poetry of Nature 118 

I'll Never Strike the Lyre Again 119 

If Mary will but Smile 120 

The Complaint 121 

Those Earlv Walks that we Have Taken 122 

The Echo of Home 123 

Woman's Heart 125 

Time 126 

Mary 127 

The Old Cruser Burying-Place 128 

The Storm 129 

To Laura Pelton 130 

My Old Shoes 132 

To Sophie 134 



CONTENTS. 9 

PAGE 

Friendship, To Samuel Burger 135 

Tlie Kiss 136 

On the Death of My Little Dog "Lily" 137 

Oh, Loveliest Star of Night that Shines 138 

My Jennie's Grave 140 

Oh, Jennie Dear ! Oh, Jennie Dear ! 143 

But Still I Know My Jennie's Dead 144 

On the Death of Mrs. Burkman's Darling Child 145 

On the Death of Josephine 147 

On the Death of Emma Mott 148 

I Would not Have Thee Back, My Love 149 

On tlie Death of Mamie E. Benedict Basinger 150 

Memory, On the Death of Mamie E. Benedict Basinger. 151 

Written Valentine's Day After the Death of 152 

On the Deatli of Peter the Flower Boy 154 

On the Deatli of Andrew Jackson Downing 156 

To the Memory of Barns 157 

To Mary 158 

The Western Hunter 159 

There Is an Arm to Save 163 

Come, Jesu, Kind and Loving God 163 

On Recovei'ing from Sickness, March, 1859 164 

Written for the Orphan Children's Home 166 

The Lamb of Calvarv 168 

Is this My Mary's Home ? , 169 

Thou, Who of Hope could Fondly Sing 170 

Tlie Stolen Lock " 171 

Think I can't Love when Far Away ! 173 

Repentance 173 

The Passions Burning 174 

I cannot Boast of Love Divine. (To Sophie) 175 

On Finding a Dead Swallow 176 

The Wish 177 

Dryads, I have Lost My Love 178 

To Jenny H 180 

To Cupid 181 

A Sonnet 182 

Ye Little Birds Awake no Note 183 

Love ,184 

I Never Told Thee that I Loved 185 

To Isabel 186 

Hear Me ! Hear Me ! Isabel 187 

Why Should My Rose Neglected Lie 188 

That Happy Time Will Come, Mary 189 



10 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Young Malinda 190 

See How Matilda Scorns My Love 192 

To Isabel 193 

Still I Love Thee 194 

To Camilla 195 

To Mary 196 

To Chloe 197 

The Maid of Rahway 199 

The Maid of Old Town 201 

To Sophie. I have Thought of Tliee a Thousand Times. 203 

To Sophie 204 

The Girl I Love so Dearly 205 

Biddy Young 206 

To Miss INIary L. Pelton 208 

My Island Maid 210 

The Battle of Inkermann 211 

Crittendon the Cuban Patriot 213 

An Eulogvon my Old Cat "Pink," Born March 30th, 

1886, Died, December 25th, 1849 215 

Away My Muse 316 

The Spring Rain 217 

Now I Have Learned in Love to Appear 218 

In Answer to a Ladv who Wanted an Introduction. . . 219 

Did You ever Marry Yet 220 

Full Many a Lass I've Loved 221 

VALENTINES. 

1. I Need not Tell My Sophie 222 

2. To Sophie. The South Wind is Blowing 228 

3. Long as I Hear the Feathered Tribes. (To Sophie). 224 

4. So Stands the Elm. (To Marv) 225 

5. Tell Me ! Tell Me ! (To Isabel) 226 

6. Blest Be Thy Choice 227 

FOR ALBUMS. 

1. My Album is My Heart's Recorder 228 

2. We of Ourselves are but a Point to Start 228 

3. Wealth and Honor — Youtli and Beaut}' 228 

4. Long May this Verse Your Vision Bless 229 

5. Pardon Me, Dear Friend, if I Presume 229 

6. In Flattering Verse to Jingle Charlotte's Name 229 

7. When Wasting Time has Swept this Hand Away. . 230 

8. Dear Lady, though You Bid Me Write 280 

9. Like Eden this may Bloom so Fair. 280 



GREENWOOD. 



August 2M, 1850. 

How dull the morn, the low'ring curtains shed 

A fitting gloom for visiting the dead ; 

It brings tliose serious thoughts upon a brow 

Where ruthless time has scarcely drawn a plow, 

And brings deep musing o'er the burning brain, 

Yet 'tis not joyless though 'tis charged with pain. 

By land my steed shall draw me on tlie way; 

By steamers wafted where the waters sway ; 

My sister shall my solemn journey tend — 

My dear companion and my loveliest friend. 

Intent my thoughts upon the expected shore, 

Careless we pass where oft we've passed before. 

Till at the gate, O saored spot ! we stand 

Where sister hills stand linked on either hand. 

11 



12 GREENWOOD. 

Turn'd to the left we take the toar around 
And pass the lake — a heavenly spot of ground. 
Here Art to Nature lends a moulding hand, 
And grassy verdure carpets all the land ; 
The scattering fountain would to sunbeams tell 
That art can nature in one point excel. 



Mcdonald clauee. 13 



POETS' MOUND. 

And now the Poets' Mound awakes my lyre, 
Tunes ev'ry string, and sets ray soul on fire ; 
To aid my pen no fancied muse I call. 
Come, Thou Great Spirit ! Governor of all ; 
Inspire my verse and tune the vocal lyre, 
Who sent the Seraph with the living fire : 
And should my verse a heavenly thought impart, 
Close not the ear, and harden not the heart. 

And who lies here ? What genius does it own ? 

Is this poor Clarke that's raised this costly stone ? 

Too proud to beg the bread he crav'd, 

None ever heard him groan, 

And thus he starv'd : when in his grave 

They mock him with a stone. 

If he was worthy of historic praise. 

If his own merit such a stone could raise, 



14 POETS' MOUND. 

Was he not worthy of the bread he crav'd, 
Till raging hunger into madness rav'd ? 
Seek not perfection in the tuneful Choir, 
'Tis torturing fortune sets the soul on fire. 
The poet is a harp unstrung till adverse fate 
Has soften'd, fired, or filled the soul with hate. 



Mcdonald clarep. 15 



INVOCATION. 

Come ! holy spirit of my song, 
And crown my lyre with bays, 

While forgetting other sacred dead, 
I sing McDonald's praise. 

Spectre shades, and spirits dire, 

In fancy cross the mind. 
While airy forms as bright as fire, 

Float round on wdngs of wind. 

Within this lone enchanting vale, 
Still dost thy spirit stay ? 

Or has it left this wicked world 
For calmer realms away ? 

To that far distant land 

To seek that unknown bourne. 
Who pined amid a social world, 

A spirit all forlorn. 



16 INVOCATION. 

Come! pour thy spirit on my verse, 

Thy wild poetic fire, 
To mingle in my solemn strain, 

Oh, grant thy friend's desire ! 



Mcdonald clarke. 17 



EULOGY. 

The tears bedew my cheerless eyes, 
For whose with pity would not start, 
To think upon the mournful fate 
That has awaited Sandy Clarke. 

I've often heard men call him mad, 
And say dark spirits on him tend ; 
The mean excuse did make them glad, 
That then they need not him befriend. 

If it were so, then make me mad! 

The change shall make my soul grow glad, 

'Twill leap beyond control. 

In broken ridges, grand, and rude. 
His harp sonorous tun'd the song ; 
With eagle glance his thoughts protrude ; 
Thus madly rolled his verse along. 



18 EULOGY. 

Look thou for calm serenity, 

When gath'ring storms around us rise ; 

'Tis grandeur then like storms to be 
When lightnings flash athwart the skies. 

Though long oppressed by poverty, 
Yet he from wealth did ever flee, 
And pin'd within his soul. 

His soul was like the mountain tide, 
That peaceful through the plain might glide. 
But when o'er rocks and ridges driven 
Its roar is echoed far and wide. 

Ilis flight is check'd, liis debt is paid. 
The conqueror bade the curfew toll : 
That Highland face is now a shade, 
And eyes that spoke a gen'rous soul. 

Those eyes that shone so radiant bright, 
Reflecting Heaven's pure azure light. 
At length have reached their goal. 



THE INDIAN MOUND. 

WuAT figure strange upon this tomb I trace? 

It is no image of our Saxon race, 

A swelling heart that's laboring in its grief, 

That would not weep lest it should find relief ; 

Iowa's chief, it seems, and can this be 

So late in bloom, thy lov'd Dohumme. 

So late a maid, so late a bride. 

Is this the end of human pride? 

A daughter of a hunter wild. 

An Indian wife, a chieftain's child. 

Enough : they would not have it said 

That tears were to her tribute paid. 

Rest in the soil that once w^as thine, 

Thou last fair image of a glorious line. 

Compar'd with Afric's sons how bless'd 

In freedom's grave to find a rest ; 
19 



20 ■ THE INDIAN MOUND. 

Majestic bright'ning in decline, 

Like setting stars that brighter shine, 

Thy dust bears record of thy fame 

Without one spot to blast thy name ; 

But still the negro lives the scorn 

Of those whose burdens long he's borne, 

And yields his sons to slavery 

Whom righteous heaven ordained as free. 

But these in time may yet assert their right, 

And, joined with foreign and Confederate might, 

With streams of blood may dye the Southern plain, 

And Sparta call for Athens' aid in vain. 

Oh, brothers ! brothers ! while I plead with thee, 

Wilt thou not hear the cries of Slavery ? 

If not the negro can thy pity move, 

Think of thy race, and own a brother's love. 

Shall Slavery's weeds choke up fair freedom's soil. 

And freemen's labor weigh 'gainst slavery's toil? 

Shall Southern votes for the dumb negro pass* 

And the free Northman vote not for his ass? 

Shall few great planters fill the fertile plain 

And beach or crag is all the poor can gain ? 

Shall one proud lordling his poor negroes drive ? 

Where many freemen well might live and thrive? 

* The slave owners put in two votes for every five slaves 
they owned, and so got representation for slaves. 



THE INDIAN MOUND. 21 

Shall this weak point tempt some proud mighty foe, 
Where train'd in strength might deal the offensive 

blow, 
And hand in hand might move the public weal 
With hearts of firmness, and with fronts of steel? 
But, my dear friends, let me no wrath excite ; 
'Tis mine alone the mournful tale to write. 
When Heaven the curse of slavery would shovsr 
She gave the pen to Harriet Beecher Stowe. 



GEORGE W. BROWNE'S TOMB. 

As up the hill we bend our winding way 

Where rival tombs their vaults, their fronts, display, 

Now, generous Xanthus, lightly tread, 

For here are laid the sacred dead ; 

Thou steed of proud Eclipse's strain, 

Thou has not drawn that blood in vain ; 

But check awhile that smouldering fire 

That proves thee of a noble sire. 

What massive weight is heaped upon the dead ! 
What gaudy show around their tombs are shed ! 
More wealth than worth is often gather'd here, 
And lying tombstones o'er their graves uprear ; 
Their anxious friends to cover every fault 
Rear the high tomb, or decorate the vault ; 
The conscious world in silence passing by. 

Pity their faults, nor chide the lifeless lie. 

22 



GEORGE W. BROWNE'S TOMB. 23 

Now on a Gothic pile I rest my feasting eyes, 
With flnial plume, and tiles cut diamond- wise. 
With gabled front, and quatrefoil relief, 
With buttress firm, it stood awhile the chief. 
And still it may with costlier structures vie, 
And stand in time a proud antiquity. 



THE POMP OF WEALTH. 

As o'er the Hill Avith solemn pace and slow, 
The wond'ring eyes behold the vale below ; 
What wealth lies sqiiander'd o'er the vulgar dead, 
What health, what comfort might its powers have 

spread ; 
This adds no comfort to the senseless dead, 
But by its bloom our living pride is fed ; 
'Tis here their family wealth and taste are shown, 
And merit told of— elsewhere never known ; 
Where weakness and vanity these tombs uprear. 
Pride triumphs oft where sorrow claims a tear. 

Heaven takes small note whence comes or goes the 
clay. 

Yet man will heap up stone that scarcely will de- 
cay, 
Well pleased we see these mighty structures rise. 
Yet Egyptian follies wisely all despise— 

24 



THE POMP OF WEALTH. 25 

They by their tyrants mighty labors wrought, 
We by a system with oppression fraught. 

The pomp of sorrow is frozen wealth's display, 
In burst of pride its grandeur seems to say, 
Here lies the great, great dust beneath this stone, 
A trumping chronicle that fame has never known. 

Yes ! this is more than common dust ! 

Dust made sacred by a soul ! 

Heaven consecrated with a holy trust ! 

This vacant hall the Heavens may still enrolL 



THE INFANT'S GRAVE. 

See o'er yon new-made grave the mother weeps ; 

With dewy tears the new-laid clods she steeps; 

Thus loud she wails while bent down on the grass, 

She hears no trampling, sees no strangers pass. 

'Tis from our birth we're doom'd to feel this smart. 

The fairest flowers are soonest to depart. 

Their infant days alone to us are given, 

They only bud on earth to bloom in heaven. 

But the fell spirits that from hell proceed, 

Dwell long on earth, and many a wanton deed 

Shows their dark course while here on earth they 

dwell, 

And plainly mark their downward track to hell. 

Ah ! happy are they that die in their childhood. 

Their memory's with joy and their end is in bliss, 

For if there's an offering in Heaven accepted 

From Adam's curs'd seed 'tis an offering like this. 

2G 



THE INFANTS GRAVE. 27 

For we still are deceived by the memory of child- 
hood, 

For youth has its pain that's unknown to age ; 

The thorns are all gone where the roses once stood, 

And onward are battles we dread to engage. 

Like the echo that reverberates from the mountain's 
rough border 

How sweetly it plays upon Fancy's pleased ear — 

Thus the scenes of our childhood by memory's re- 
corder 

Have sweetened ev'ry smile, and softened each tear. 



MARY C. DIKE. 

Here violent death has called forth violent grief ; 
And let them wail, if wailing gives relief- 
Let not their grief thy timeless mirth amuse, 
Or artless love " spelt by the unlettered muse." 



28 



JOHN R. PAXTON". 

As o'er the hill we bend our doubtful way, 

We pass where kindred bones now mouldering 

lay- 
But all are kindred, kindred to the dust, 
And worse than dust without that heavenly trust. 



29 



MRS. MARY PAXTON. 

I WOULD weep for thee, Mary, 
But thou art happy now ; 

A spirit light and airy 

Thought cannot mar thy brow. 

For thou art gone, Mary, 
And left this world behind ; 

"Where sorrows only vary 
And cares oppress the mind. 

But we will meet again, Mary, 
And our kindred spirits dwell, 

Like the visions of a fairy 
And naught will break the spelL 



30 



CHILDHOOD AND AGE. 

How often memory throws its rays 
Buck on our early chilcUiood days — 
Beguiles our thoughts with painted joy, 
Nor aught is felt of life's alloy. 

But childish thoughts, and childhood's days 
Have had their joys and had their blaze, 
And toil began, and cares crept in, 
And selfish thoughts led on to sin. 

We plough with care, we sow with pride, 
Our pride increased with every stride ; 
The golden crops despise the plough 
Oh ! God in Heaven, protect us now. 



31 



THE THOUGHT OF DEATH. 

What noble structures of human art on every side 
are spread 

Within this labyrinth of monuments, this city of the 
dead ! 

But harli, I hear a toll, it is a funeral bell. 

It seems a warning spirit from yonder distant dell. 

We should not fear that warning, nor dread the con- 
queror's strife. 

For living in the fear of death is not the true end 
of life ; 

But listening to our conscience, let it direct our ways, 

Then happier shall pass our life ; in peace shall end 
our days. 

Solemn gloom, why do we dread the grave? 
Fear we to rest where there's an arm to save ? 
A long dark passage to an unknown bourne, 
The cheerless prospect of a distant morn ? 



THE THOUGHT OF DEATH. 33 

The thoughts of death the bliss of life alloy ; 

Wrapt in himself man might himself destroy ; 

Forgetful still that life alone was given 

To smooth our path, and fit our soul for heaven; 

In virtue's path will we our vigil keep, 

How many nights are crowned with downy sleep! 

If for the soul we strive its health to save, 

May we not hope for comfort in the grave ? 

Swift flies the time when winged by silken joy, 

Ere dewy fogs the ambient air destroy ; 

But swifter far must be its flight in death 

As death is stiller than our vital breath. 



THE FUNERAL. 

Here comes a priest the funeral pomp to grace 

With costly scarf and sanctity of face. 

Oh ! holy men, can ye receive the gift 

Where poverty is making many a shift ! 

Will ye still hover where the arrow sped, 

And stoop ignobly to despoil the dead ! 

Ye, who to sorrow still might lend a charm, 

And bathe the wounded with a healing balm ! 

Here comes the hearse all blackened o'er with pall ; 

It is a mother that Heaven was pleased to call. 

Oh! holy name,— father, sister, brother, — 

All combined ye are much less than mother. 

Oh ! thou to whom we owe our very life, 

The kind protectress of our infant strife, 

And still through life our kind protectress found, 

All that's of thee must have a holy sound. 

Fortune sets mad the world with hate or fame ; 

But still the mother ever is the same. 

34 



THE FUNERAL. 35 

Oh! what a loss at any age is this ! 
To youth how needful, and to age what bliss, 
To have a mother living to engage 
The kind affection due her wasting age. 
Though thy dead mother may rejoicing be, 
Yet, little children, I would weep for thee. 
For w^ell I know that when those eyes were sealed 
Thou bore a wound that never can be healed. 
So must it be ; and we must learn to bend, 
Thankful that mera'ry still some joy can lend. 
Through the long train there's many a coach at- 
tends 
That bears its burden, but that bears no friends. 
They came to ride, or came the time to wile. 
And in their joy cannot suppress the smile. 
No stranger's tears need on the bier attend, 
Nor secret sighing aid a weeping friend — 
But smile not here, lest in some coming liour 
Ye w^ant those smiles that then will mock your 
pow'er. 



THE KEEPER'S LODGE. 

TuRX from these tombs and yonder cottage view 
With battened sides rough as the forest grew ; 
Not to decay nor of a human plan ; 
It seems of nature an older growth than man. 
And that old bell that hangs in yonder tower 
Tolls o'er the dead with more than mortal power, 
And warns sublime, if warning we will hear, 
To live in justice, and our Maker fear. 

Still, as I hear that solemn knell. 
It has a thrilling, deep'ning sound ; 
It does the fading memory swell 
Of friends that lie beneath the ground. 

To keep the pass an ancient figure bends, 
Like fancied Peter on the gate attends. 
Now turn'd this cot, this loveliness I leave, 
To plunge 'mid death and revel as I grieve. 



96 



LAMENTATIOK 

Oh ! brilliant genius still consign'd, 
It works upon the thoughtful mind 
To see the choice of death. 

The brightest fire is soonest laid, 
The fairest flower is first to fade, 
The sweet, the shortest breath. 

The lilies, blooming sweet and fair, 
With fragrance load the ambient air, 
And all their charms confess. 

All feel the rapture of delight, 

The transport of the sense and sight, 

And none would wish it less. 

Yet all that joyous scent and bloom, 
Is but its passage to the tomb — 
The onward march of death. 

The mind is but a burning flame, 

Though bright it sparkles into fame, 

Must die at every breath. 
37 



THE BEGGAR. 

What ghastly form has caught ray pitymg eyes. 
Nor worth, nor merit, in his cause replies. 
With liquid fire his half-clad limbs would warm, 
By heaven forsook to ruin nature's form. 
For such as these oft charity deceives. 
And such alone the generous man relieves ; 
Where merit pines she trusts no soi'did powers ; 
'Tis for a nobler heart and freer hand than ours. 
But try not these by men's severest laws. 
For Heaven in mercy long has judged thy cause. 



38 



THE CURSE OF INTEMPERANCE. 

An ! worse than war, more fatal to the soul, 

That still deceiving, ever-maddeningbowl ! 

The widow groans, the suffering orphan cries, 

The shrewd grow rich where reckless folly flies : 

The inebriate's drink can drown his grief as well 

As sin on earth can pay the debt of hell ; 

Their health destroyed, their blameless offspring 

dooms, 
And fill our graveyards with their early tombs. 
Yet there are they who advocate its cause, 
And call it good that wars with nature's laws. 
What wretched want, what damning sins we see, 
Is easy traced, curst Alcohol to thee. 
It slacks our nerves, and lumbers up our course. 
And brings old age with double speed and force. 

Still round the tour the fairest tombs display. 

Like the bright honors of tlie milky wav. 

39 



BAY GROVE HILL. 

"While o'er the tombs I see yon prospect smile, 
Here will I pause, and pausing muse the while. 
A pleasing sight to see those stately sail — 
The peaceful nation's voluntary bail. 



40 



REFLECTIONS ON THE WICKEDNESS OF 
NEW YORK. 

Though freighted with the commerce of all crime, 
And so it's been from record's euiiiest time, 
From port to port they ride the world around, 
And bless and curse where'er they touch the ground. 
Oh, City of my birth, could virtue see 
The crime, the folly rooted deep in thee. 
The midnight revel, and the rambler's den. 
Those scenes of whoredom, and of wicked men, 
Those shiidd'ring scenes would drive her from your 

strand. 
And in her fright scarce raise a helping hand. 
Now one black scene stands pictured to my view, 
The scene all fancy, but the fancy true : — 
In a back hall, an alley leads the way, 
Remote from justice, and shut out from day. 
Careless alike if passing night or day 
The eager gambler feasts upon his prey ; 

41 



42 ON THE WICKEDNESS OF NEW YORK. 

All pale, the youth would from his power be free ; 
Too weak for conquest, and too spent to flee ; 
'Tis not enough his pockets he would drain, 
But sends him out to seek unlawful gain. 
He goes unwilling, but with hope to shun 
The punishment for crimes already done. 
Till, stumbling short, his arrant course is run ; 
The wretched mother mourns her ruined son. 
Thus folly leads and vice pursues the way, 
And night will shield those deeds too dark for day, 
Till Truth breaks in, and, with his arm of might. 
Dispels those clouds, and rears his throne of right. 

Sad is the thought, but would I alter ? Oh ! no ! 
Too loath we are to leave this world of woe. 
Where all are sinners, sinners from our birth. 
And all must sin while journeying here on earth. 
For social laws draw men into a throng 
And selfish rights makes each his fellow wrong. 

Those few hours to virtue given. 

Are like the gems that shine in heaven, 

And own their Deity ; 

As swift around his throne they fly, 



ON THE WICKEDNESS OF NEW YORK. 43 

Yet how small the space wherein they lie 
Compared with all the sky ! 

Should Heaven in vengeance wreak its wrath again, 
This might be found a City of the Plain. 
But stay thine arm, Oh, Heavenly Father, spare ! 
Think of the babes, remember Nineveh. 



f 



WILLIAM BURBANK. 

Who reared this haughty obelisk on high ? 
It mocks at death and would insult the sky. 
Could ye not show him in an humbler form, 
Who fell the victim of a raging storm, 
Where Duston's * worth and valor could not save, 
But still pursued him to his very grave? 
But the dear man who now we hope's in bliss, 
'Tis well to know he had no hand in this. 

* While they were carrying Captain Duston to the 
grave, who commanded the steamer in which Burbank 
was lost, there came up a most violent squall. 



44 



DE WITT CLINTON". 

Here rests awhile within this vault, 
A statesman that could never halt ; 
Is this the end of thy desire, 
Poor ashes of ambitious fire ? 
The evil still pursues thy name, 
The good forgets to give thee fame ; 
Too loud thy foes while yet they live 
Who thou in life their due could give ; 
But, as the smouldering ember dies, 
Thy faults shall sink, thy fame shall rise, 
And with its brazen throat shall sound 
A blast to ring the world around — 
A monument that's all thy own 
Not like the silent mossy stone. 
Defying Time's corroding power, 
And blooming like a heavenly flower. 



45 



VIRGINIA MINGARY * 

This obelisk confesses causeless fright, 
The rage of fear, and ruin's mad delight ; 
Prudence is wisdom when not turned to fear, 
But fear is ruin in its mad career. 
He early took them that so lately gave ; * 
Short from the womb he rock'd them to the grave. 
I think I hear ye ask, Why all these babes ; 
Mad unbelief ! have filled these early graves ? 
But, curious man, what would ye not know 
Of ill ; nor think of good the Heavens bestow. 
Alike in youth, alike in age. 
Alike the scholar and the sage ! 
This warning dire should warn us all 
That death on any soon may call. 

* A false alarm of fire in school caused the death of these 
children and about seventy others. 



46 



DR. WAINWRIGHT. 

See yonder tabular that stands below 
Foolhardy madness in a man does show, 
Who sported with poison, tampered with a snake. 
And fooled his life with nothing good at stake. 



47 



CHARLOTTE CANDA. 

Turn'd to the left, I seek the intricate round, 

Where Charlotte Canda decorates the ground, 

Like Sirius, fairest of the starry line. 

Yet death seems setting on that heavenly shrine ; 

All tombs around are in its splendor lost, 

And all must bow before its mighty cost. 

Yet who would envy, who would take her place, 

Though not possessed of any wealth or grace. 

The dread of pain, tenacity of life, 

Increase with woe, and feed on mortal strife ; 

In vain the roses round her bloom. 

Vain may the polished marble shine, 

In vain the sculptured image show 

Charlotte in life almost divine. 

Still all is night beneath the gorgeous tomb. 

And the black grave wears the same dismal gloom. 

Thou lovely flower, too delicate for earth, 

'Tis only strange such beauty here had birth ; 

Supine it fell before the autumnal blast 

To rise to Heaven when wintry storms have passed. 

48 



SAMUEL D. SCUDDER. 

Short was thy mission, blameless child of God. 
Weep, Ceylon weep, o'er Greenwood's greedy sod, 
The grave thy cradle for thy rest on earth. 
Thy tomb a manger for celestial birth. 
Thy education fits thee for the sky, 
'Twas not in vain it taught thee how to die. 
Heaven's true wealth beyond false fortune lies. 
Men may grow great but never can grow wise ; 
Wealth and honor may conspire in vain 
To seize by force what humbler mortals gain. 
Fortune, oft false, was not to him untrue. 
And fame, unsought, a wreath upon him threw. 



49 



RICHARDSON. 

Yon gloomy pillar through the thickets lower, 
And seems the relic of a stone of power. 
To Odin's praise by rude barbarians given, 
As dark and cheerless as their hope of Heaveiic 



50 



THE VOLUNTEER OFFICERS. 

Aee tliese tlie conquerors, this the trophy gave! 
They fought for glory, and they won a grave : 
Such fate awaits those chiefs that love to roam, 
And deal destruction to a happy home. 



51 



BATTLE HILL. 

But once these hills were stained with guiltless 

blood, 
Such blood and tears as made a second flood ; 
What time the British legions trod our shore, 
And filled Columbia's blameless land with gore. 
To arms ! to arms ! the fervent patriot cried, 
To arms ! to arms ! the generous youth replied ; 
From every hill the clamorous sounds arise, 
" And the long peals ran echoing through the 

skies — " 

The gray-haired veteran, and the man of God, 

The polished scholar and the clownish clod. 

All side by side join in the common cause 

To save their country, and their country's laws : 

Themselves the bulwark tyrants would destroy, 

And won the freedom which we now enjoy. 

Though many a soldier found an early grave. 

Heaven sent a man our bleeding land to save — 

52 



BATTLE HILL. 58 

Brave as Achilles, as Ulysses wise, 

With Hector's virtues, to complete the prize ; 

His country's father, freedom's dearest son, 

Beloved by all, immortal Washington : 

He in the breeze, bade our proud banners fly, 

And war-worn veterans shouted victory. 

They know alone what freedom cost, 

Who fought in many a battle lost; 

And, wearied, turned and fought again. 

And saw their brethren bite the plain. 

Desponding, wa-ecked, despoiled and driven, 

They met at length the smiles of Heaven ; 

Then fled or fell the hireling slave. 

Even then they feared a freeman's grave ; 

They drove their standards from the land. 

And saw them drooping leave the strand : 

Tall ships they reared, and their victorious stars. 

To grace the Heavens waves o'er their giant spars. 



CUE COUNTRY'S FLAG. 

Let bards unborn display its future worth, 
I'll sing the glory of its noble birth ; 
Paul Jones, the first to rear those stripes on high, 
'Mid shouting sailors, and a smiling sky. 
Down came the stars, a voluntary aid, 
And lent their lustre, and their tribute paid. 
* Then rushed to battle,'gainst o'erpo wering might. 
Our valiant seamen still maintained the fight ; 
The sinking hull, half filled with blood and gore, 
Old ocean murmured at the wreck he bore ; 
"With grief the goddess saw stern Neptune's rage. 
And would the favor of the god engage ; 
"With skillful grace she undecked the ruined mast. 
And on Britannia's made her darling fast ; 
Then bore her wounded heroes from the deck. 
The greedy ocean swallowed up the wreck, 
The boarding tars with Heaven-strung fury plied. 
The vanquished foemen loud for quarter cried ; 
Thus reared in blood, to triumph over fears, 
'Twill float triumphant through a thousand years. 

* Paul Jones's victory. 
54 



A. L. F. COWDREY. 

Here lies a man, one of a generous crew, 

To duty prompt, to noble passions true. 

His ardent breast, urged on by strong desire. 

Has spent its rage, to check tlie rage of fire ; 

His weeping friends and comrades lield most dear 

All bruised and mangled brought his body here. 

Far from the noise, the bustle, and the strife. 

And all those scenes he held so dear in life. 



55 



SAMUEL J. GILLESPIE. 

Come view this tomb, this emblem scan, 
The watchful dog, the faithful friend of man, 
With more than reason does his patience burn, 
And burns for him that never can return. 



56 



THE PILOT. 

Now round and round unwilling are we bore, 

O'er length of ground that we have trod before, 

Determined thus the like mishap to shun, 

At every turn we watch the lowering sun, 

Till through the trees at distance we can spy, 

A stately tomb high towering to the sky — 

His tomb our guide whom friendship has placed 

o'er 

A much-loved pilot, but a guide no more ; 

By angry Neptune's reckless wrath decreed. 

Nor mortals could, nor Jove would intercede — 

O'erpowering storms and tempests gathered o'er, 

And wrecked and ruined on a well-known shore. 

For he who strove while others quaked for fear, 

And died for strangers — strangers shed a tear. 

O reckless death, on total ruin bent, 

Men at thy call are from their duty sent ; 

67 



58 THE PILOT. 

But if to honor you can build up fame, 

To die on duty is the noblest name. 

But why will men thus hardy strive to live, 

Where their best fortune naught but life can give ; 

Man, vain boaster, must yield when fate has sent. 

And learn to bow to power that can't relent ; 

And oft it haps the proudest ones we see 

Bending beneath a blind fatality : 

Yet some would llee, and others trembling wait 

The soft still voice that warns them of their fate. 



VICTOR MARCET. 

Thus did Victor stand upon tlie brink, 

And see his comrades sporting in the brine, 

Full well he knew it was his fate to sink, 
And that no arm could check the power divine. 

Yet in an unguarded evil hour. 

He fell the victim of the threat'ning power. 

Full many a squall without a cloud, 

Strikes when our sails are spread, 
While oft those ones that threaten loud. 

Burst harmless o'er our head. 
To think, to talk, may be the part of man 
Ilis actions all are of some heavenly plan. 



59 



TRUE HAPPINESS. 

Oh, life, thou path of rocks and thorns, 
Or vainly struggling 'gainst the tide, 

Man ever o'er his folly mourns, 
And only seeks the port of pride. 

Oh, could ye take what fortune yields, 
And bless the bounteous hand that gives^ 

For know what nature never shields. 
That thing with comfort never lives. 

In joyous youth, in age serene, 
There's bliss in ev'ry peaceful scene. 
In ev'ry age and state there's pain, 
Where rage and discord hold their reign. 

There's grandeur in the storm ; 

There's beauty in the shower ; 

There's loveliness amid the tears, 

Of sorrow's pensive hour. 
60 



TRUE HAPPINESS. 61 

There's naught so innocent on earth, 

That is not mixed with gall ; 
Even dewdrops hanging on the leaves, 

May wet you if they fall. 

True happiness is in the mind, 

Nor can it dwell away, 
Dark discontent may gather clouds, 

O'er natures sunniest day. 

'Tis death not life that brought me here to sing. 
The sudden change might break the tuneful string. 



GEORGE AND ALBERT SWAN. 

What constellation breaks upon my sight, 
Their emblem's shining with an equal light ; 
In equal love and rival bloom they seem, 
Like the lov'd brothers of the Spartan Queen. 
Sleep ! brothers, sleep ! glad memory with thy 

youth, 
And shed a light o'er honor, love and truth. 



62 



MOSES KIMBALL.* 

Behold again we meet another tomb, 
Of that dire storm that fill'd our land witli gloom ; 
How few escape destruction's deadly bows, 
And pass unharmed this world of many woes ; 
Yet there's consolation 'mid that solemn gloom, 
To lay them decent in the funeral tomb. 
Consign their spirits to a heavenly trust. 
And mix their ashes with its parent dust. 
'Twixtthe soul and the body there's still an affinity. 
Though the one is all carnal and the other divinity. 
As the soul pants for Heaven, so the heart pants for 

earth. 
Each for the place that it claims for its birth. 
'Tis the instinct of life, by nature 'tis given, 
Dust unto dust, and spirit to heaven. 

* Lost in the storm with Captain Dustou on the Steamer 
Atlantic : 

63 



COZZENS. 

Nor yet unseen must we desert the place 

Where stands a monument possess'd of every grace ; 

These angel forms to fancy only known, 

Here seem to breathe upon this sculpture^ stone. 

This skilful draft, though well it please the eye. 

Yet may it not offend the Deity ? 

Though some good angel bids the spirit fly. 

Leave earth and seek the regions of the sky, 

Yet be this truth a revelation known, 

111 sets a spirit on a sombre stone. 

By various turns we seek the tower again. 
To gain a prospect of the distant main. 



64 



JOHN M. BRUCE. 

And here's, my friends, an empty tomb 
Where death has never cast a gloom ; 
For virtues tried he's blessed with life. 
Who calmly bore the business strife ; 
And may no troubled sea invade, 
Till calm he lies in Greenwood shade. 



65 



OCEAN HILL. 

Delightful spot ! favor'd of Heaven ! 

What health, what strength in every breeze is given ; 

Here heavenly showers their fertile influence pour, 

And ocean's briny arms wash clean the shore ; 

Favor'd of Jove, what beauties here are spread. 

Fit place to live seems fit to lay the dead : 

Oh ! shudd'ring thought, beneath the miry sod. 

Sacred alone to some infernal god. 

To lay our friends where the muddy wave 

In wintry tempests 'mid the valleys rave. 

There fever reigns, health shuns the morbid spot, 

And all that's human feels the canker rot ; 

Who from such fate would not their body save ? 

'Tis death to think of filling such a grave. 

But here all fear, all loathing here has fled, 

We seek a sweet communion with the dead, 

And as we read on each historic tomb 

We'd have them answer from their solemn gloomj 



FAMILY BTJRYmG-GROUNDS. 

On their own farms some choose to rest their bones 
(Nor think how few of parents' farms their children 

owns) ; 
For this they choose some lone sequester'd hill, 
Too drear for prospect, and too poor to till ; 
There frisking lambs dance at the close of day, 
Or sporting heifers tear the sod away ; 
Brambles and briers with tall weeds o'ergrown, 
And sunken graves is all of them that's known ; 
Their sacred memory can no more prevail ; 
They live in fancy of some ghostly tale ; 
The grudging ploughman craves the ground to till, 
And grubs intrusive round the wasting hill; 
Still sets his coulter towards the less'ning mound, 
'Till leaning tombstones tumble on the ground, 
No more o'er graves they fill with sacred awe, 

But serve for stepstones at the invader's door. 

67 



68 FAMILY BURYING-GROUNBS. 

Thus every trace ere long shall pass away — 
Their sacred memory and their wasting clay. 

As far from this hill I can see o'er the plain, 
So boundless its glory and long be its reign ; 
And soon my dear country exulting shall be 
The joy of the land, and the pride of the sea. 
A nation of learning, a nation sublime, 
A nation of grandeur, a nation of crime. 



THE INDIAN SPIRIT. 

Yet in time what we are (liow strange does it seem) 

In history's page shall appear but a dream ; 
And they of this land that now hold the sway, 
Shall be number'd with those that have long 
passed away. 
Where millions now live there may famish a few, 
And the hunter again the lost chase shall renew : 
Let me sing when a boy, how my young fancy stray'd, 
'Twas a vision of ghosts, but I was not afraid. 

A spirit came and sat o'er the grave, 

Where his fathers were gathered, and his bones 

had been laid ; 

And he saw that the white man no relic would save 

Nor respect to his nation or kindred had paid ; 

And he rejoiced when he thought that their spirits 

were free, 

And none were there left, their bondsmen to be ; 

69 



70 THE INDIAN SPIElT. 

But still might they rove over desert and wild, 
The lovers of freedom, and nature's own child. 

And nobly he thought they had played out their part, 
Those old debts of vengeance they had honestly 

paid ; 
And friendship and gratitude those friends of the 

heart. 
That an Indian forgot, it ne'er could be said ; 
And calmly he looked on the Great Spirit's plan, 
How each race in their turn can reach but their 

span, 
And the soil that had borne his had taken its clay 
And the Spirit that sent them had swept them away. 

And the paleface had come and filled up their place, 

And palaces built and torn up the soil. 
Even Indian graves the last trace of his race. 

And seek for no pleasure but the curses of toil. 
And he pitied the white man who grovels from birth. 
Slaves by their nature must still rend the earth. 
And he would not have changed his wild spirit so 

free. 
For the life of a white man, though the noblest 
could be. 



DAVID HALE. 

This name alone might o'er the heart prevail, 
Thy kinsman's memory honors David Hale ; 
Nor less thy sternness than the chief who fell, 
To know thy virtues, they must know thee well ; 
Oft underneath a crusty hard exterior, 
The heart is tender, kind, true, superior. 

The subtle false heart is always smooth, 

The slime that poisons first the victim soothes ; 

This stern dark stone is well erected here, 

Its strength and grandeur triumph over fear ; 

To virtue true o'er truth he held a rod, 

" An honest man the noblest work of God." 



71 



REV. DAVID ABEEL. 

Joy to that soul that sought to bless mankind, 
The only tie that here on earth could bind ; 
Thy fervent spirit would not let thee rest, 
Forever wandering and forever bless'd 
Oh ! yet awhile may thy good spirit rove 
And aid the mission of the man of love. 

And now before my feasting eyes, 

Rich prospects spread around 
The teeming fields with verdure green, 

The sea with vessels crowned. 

The birds have all returned again, 

And music fills the plain, 
How blest are they — they know no past, 

Nor dread the future pain. 

By yonder tomb there stands a tree, 

Its blooming roses to display, 
But on that plant you cannot see 

The roses that have passed away. 

72 



FREDERIC PLACE. 

But what is this that I behold ? 

What ruin do I see? 
The broken column tliat marks the grave 

Of a friend. Oh, sacred name to me ! 

Upon its sides are marked around, 

To show liis friends lie near; 
A few short months have swept away, 

All that his heart held dear. 

But one I see they have not mark'd 
Though memory dims with years, 

Still round the mind forever clings 
What youth to us endears. 

Frederic, long departed boy. 

Companion of ray early joy — 

Thy youth, thy beauty, and thy wit 

Like distant meteors diraly flit. 
73 



ON THE DEATH OF EMMA MOTT. 

Oft have I seen my dearest friends depart, 
And whilst I mourned received a second dart. 

Of late the heart has been severely tried, 
And can it be the accomplished Emma died ? 
This warning gloom is Heaven's gentlest sign 

A gnomen set to cast a shade on time. 

Ye winds that o'er old Ocean roar, 
Sigh when ye reach yon pensive shore. 

Ye fields, how can ye smile? 
Long may the billows lash the shore 
In mournful dirge, for now no more 

Fair Emma glads thine isle. 

Since Emma joined the sacred dead, 

Xanthus, half thy grace has fled ; 

All that to Heaven belongs. 
74 



ON THE DEATH OF EMMA MOTT. 75 

She fell us budding roses turns, 
When hot the summer solstice burns, 
And their young beauty wrongs. 

Ah! life, how transient is thy bliss ! 
How many shocks we feel like this ! 

IIow false is all the show ! 
All that is lovely in its birth, 
Leaves this sombre, cheerless earth, 

Just as its charms we know. 

But Avhy complain of what is given. 

Of seed that makes a growth for Heaven, 

That takes no dross of earth : 
For God is good for all he gives, 
And would that every soul that lives 

Should profit by its birth. 

Then, Emma, go in beauty's power, 
And seek that amaranthine bower ; 

And join those angel girls ; 
For what were Heaven with all its bliss 
If it were not for gifts like this — 

Such tributes from its worlds. 



JONATHAN GOODHUE. 

How swarmed with goodness, here our neighbor 

lies, 
Neighbor to all, and kindred to the skies. 
Not superbly great, but most supremely good. 
Through a long life his sacred honor stood. 
By wealth and fortune, severest test, was tried. 
He lived respected, and lamented died. 

Farewell the prospect of the distant round, 
Our business now is with the adjacent ground. 



76 



NEW GROUND. 



DETACHED THOUGHT. 



Scatter'd more wide the cheerless tombs are seen, 
And pleasing nature spreads a brighter scene ; 
Amid these tombs still must I turn to man, 
And various thoughts arising, let me scan : 
What sudden change, just there fair Science teem, 
Still law is here, and law will rule supreme ; 
Man left to nature lives by natural laws. 
The social man to fellows pleads his cause; 
All rul'd by laws, but rul'd in different ways. 
And only happy where the conscience sways. 
With wary hand deal out a freeman's power 
Lest ye may rue it in a trying hour. 
For some to rage, and some to love a fool. 
Who rules himself, alone is fit to rule. 
Supremely selfish ev'ry man is right. 

And till he's vanquished glories in his might. 

77 



78 NEW GROUND. 

In ev'ry age he boasts superior skill, 

Still man is man, and so he ever will ; 

Nor less his strength, nor of degenerate size, 

To silence truth they balance equal lies : 

See where he liv'd, and what his labors wrought, 

Ilis strength and talent by those proofs are sought. 

If here he lacks, then there the proof is given 

And ever thus he keeps the balance even. 

Oh ! man to savage nature prone. 
For culture yet how rich a plot — 
Thy cultured pride oft makes thee groan. 
And savage worth is oft forgot. 

How soon are favors all forgot, 
How deep the impression of a wrong — 
Friendship seems but a selfish plot, 
Deep wounds contempt as life is long. 

To culture man, man has the power, 
For vernal showers his growth prepare. 
And most we love that tender flower, 
That only grows with toil and care. 

Oh ! feeble art, how fruitless is thy strife 
When frugal nature will not warm to life ; 



NEW GROUND. 79 

111 viiiii we seek, in vain we strive to know ; 
What from our fellows may spontaneous flow. 

Consign each one unto his place, 
And let him fill that place with grace, 
To war with nature's laws 'twere vain — 
When God makes laws, those laws will reign. 
Full many a rock by sculptor soiled, 
That might have made a corner stone. 
Material waste, and labor spoiled. 
And all too late the folly known. 

If study charms thee pleasing is the toil. 
But care is needful or ye'll wear the soil. 
Spend not your toil where adverse fate oppose, 
Nor seek to give what Heaven alone bestows. 
In a rich field may grow a barren tree, 
Robbing the soil of its fertility : 
While sprouting from bri'ry hedge I've known 
The clust'ring fruit, culture would proudly own. 
On coarsest spray the richest flowers may grow. 
And the fine leaf may scarcely own a blow. 
Ah ! why will death such victims proudly seek — 
Enough the simple, and enough the weak, 



80 NEW GROUND. 

But can the flowers their fragrance yield, 
And not tlieir atoms cast away ? 
Can the rich harvest coat the field, 
And draw no substance from the clay ? 
Thus active minds must quickly pass away 
Like kindling fires that brighten to decay. 

Not always worth, but weakness oft 

To early ruin tends, 
And self esteem attains a height 

Where ridicule suspends. 

Claiming talent none can see. 

Or merit none can find, 
That sheds a feeble ray within 

To dazzle their own mind. 

Thus they who vainly seek for fame, 

Will meet a just reward, 
And perish with their own esteem 

Without one echoing chord. 

Thus with embittering chagrin. 
And wrath they leave the world ; 

To pine unheeded and unseen. 
Where merit oft is hurled. 



NEW GROUND. 81 

Some early find the covering, grave, 

And some their folly weep — 
While some throw back those blunted darts 

That wounded them so deep. 

Heed not this smooth and flattering world. 

Flattery will only foil ; 
But when thy work is weighed with gold. 

There's merit in thy toil. 

Oft man's the author of his own woe, 

With his own hand he deals the inflicting blow, 

Self-tortured, writhing, sufl'ering, grieved, 

And blames the world that he is not relieved ; 

Nor reason ask to seek an easier plan. 

But passions rage and swallow up the man. 

Still o'er new grounds we bend our way. 

As yet unsettl'd by the dead ; 
Who yet in life may storm awhile. 

Ere their journeying spirits have fled. 

But ah ! in life, oft worse than death, 

A thousand ills pour in. 
Man not only suffers for his own 

But for his fellow's sin, 

e 



82 J^EW GROUND. 

Our dearest joys, our dearest ties, 

They reckless cut away, 
And in a moment cause a wound 

That will not heal for aye. 

Oft some fell demon, arbiter of strife, 
Bursts friendship's bands — the dearest gems of life ; 
And lying scandal, or more dangerous truth. 
Cut loose those links so dear to generous youth. 

Slaves, hell-bent in mischief, each a host. 
In things they are least concern'd they meddle most ; 
Alert to harm they play their dev'lish part 
Without one virtuous spark to warm the heart. 

Nor seize we joy, or joy it seems. 

But restless still we roam ; 
All the gain our journey proves 

If this is not our home. 

Oh ! ever restless evil man. 

How fruitless is thy toil, — 
Ere yet ye've gathered in tlie crop 

You turn it in the soil. 

The pursuit of pleasure is alone its gain. 
Too oft pursuing what must end in pain ; 



NEW GROUND. 83 

The soul arises with the coming chase, 
The looked-for pleasure when we end the race. 
Though still receding still we press afore. 
We grasp the jewel and it shines no more. 

'Tis thus the hunter can the chase enjoy 

O'er hedge and ditch, and standing crops destroy — 

Till fall'n at length, he sees the vanquished prize ; 

The noble stag rolls up his dying eyes, 

The hunter feels, and all his pleasure dies. 

But still there's joy amid our chosen friends. 
On honest friendship lasting bliss attends ; 
This is for all, for every man may find 
One that admires with a congenial mind. 

There is no clime all crops will suit. 

Nor any culture all will tend — 
But barren the soil that bears no fruit, 

And cold the man that has no friend. 

Choose not a friend that will thy substance crave, 
Be a true friend, but never be a slave ; 
Nor high, nor low, but choose an equal grade. 
To burden not, or not to go unpaid : 



84 NEW GROUND. 

With even scale let open favors swing 
Nor deal out justice with a secret spring. 

Oh, thou who think'st thy fate severely hard, 
Because some cloud obscures a brightening day, 

Thinkest thou that Heaven will show thee more 
regard, 
And all the schemes of nature disarray ? 

Think not creation was alone for you. 
Thou art but part of a stupendous plan ; 

'Twas made for Caesar and the sparrows too, 

And worlds on worlds, too much for man to scan. 

Nor is misfortune often what it seems, 
And man to want and misery left forlorn. 

Our dull minds ill search for heavenly schemes, 
Our greatest ills are blessings nobly borne. 

Man's but a wave on the ocean of time, 
A speck on the shore, a note in the chime, 
A link in the chain, a part of the whole, 
And countless the value of one precious soul. 

But small, ah, small ! is that being and soul. 

To the Power that creates and moveth the whole ; 



NEW GROUND. 85 

Man's but speck to the earth, what's the earth to 

the sun ? 
And wide over space does Sol's system run ; 

Yet farther in space and twinkling around 
Is the glory of glories, the bright stars abound ; 
Yet far, far into space, where the vision seems lost, 
And the sight and the mind into chaos are tossed — 

There myriads of worlds seem clouding the space, 
Like specks tossed chaotic, and seeking their place; 
There whole stellar systems seem but begun 
And creation proceeding ad infinitum ; 
Great God! O forgive nic if man lias a weight, 
Ye heaven of heavens, what then's thy estate? 



DR. MITCHELL. 

Here ends this farce : how much this road, like man, 

Still leading onward ends where it began I 

How much like life this consecrated ground ! 

Though on we drive still must we come around. 

In vain we halt, in vain we strive to fly, 

There lies the goal, and there our course must lie ; 

Restless rovers struggling from the womb. 

To end our struggle in the silent tomb. 

And few in life that bears a common name. 

Is worth resounding through the trump of fame. 

But here lies one for whom she blew a blast, 

Nor can it be without a tribute passed. 

Clio, beloved of all the sacred nine, 

Thy tablet fill upon this honored shrine ; 

Courted by nobles and beloved by kings. 

And this the glory that their honor brings. 

80 



DB. MITCHELL. 87 

Yet science claims thee, bids thee live a name, 
With zealous Priestley blundering up to fame, 
A pleasing, trifling, yet a thoughtful sage, 
A blaze of glory sinking into age. 



CHANCELLOR KENT. 

Here lies the great, a clever man lies here, 
The Judge of judges bids the judge appear; 
A sapient jurist, and a generous man. 
Thy virtues known, thy talent who could scan ? 



HARPERS. 

Here's a band of brothers, do not fear, 
These social men not yet are here ; 
They yet awhile have parts to i^lay 
And brighten many a gloomy day. 



89 



GERMAN GROUNDS. 

Far from his home the wandering German lies — 

'Tis freedom's home, tlie living brotlier cries ; 

Who just escaped the tyrant's iron grasp 

Would in his arms the enchanting goddess clasp, 

And thinks fair freedom's soil may lighter tread, 

And softer lie upon her noble dead, 

And feels in freedom more content to die 

Than live in chains from whence he had to fly. 

'Tis hard for man to leave his native land 

And seek a dwelling on a foreign strand. 

But naught compared with those brave souls of 

yore 
Who built their homes upon a hostile shore. 



90 



THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 

Ha ! who can tell the suffering of that band 

Who first set foot on wild New England's strand? 

With solemn look the fathers stand 

Around their new-made brother's grave, 
'Tis in a free but foreign land 

And death that liberty to crave. 

Yet would they rather fill that grave 
Than tyrants dread or curse their God — 

The master there can find no slave, 
But turns in horror from the sod. 

They thought who next of them should fall, 
Their friends an ample grave would heap, 

They thought the summons was for all, 
And only for the last would weep. 



91 



/ 



PUBLIC LOTS. 

Still as we drive full many a grave we pass 
Till grave to grave join in one common mass ; 
Here the long lines of heaped-up earth do wave, 
There the deep trench shows it one common grave. 
The mean canaille there toils for strengthening 

bread, 
And like the falcon feasts upon the dead. 
The curling smoke around his nostrils play 
And in low joking pass the hours away. 

So let it be, still may their hearts be glad, 
Till crushing fortune bids the soul be sad ; 
For they can feel who rough in every way, 
Roughly does sorrow o'er their bosom play. 



92 



PIERO MARONCELLI.* 

But mid these ridges of the vulgar dead, 
Beloved of fame, Piero's may be read, 
Who, doomed in chains of misery to stand 
For Europe's sin, for loving his dear land : 
Him to the furies heartless tyrants gave. 
Till pitying fortune the poor wretch would save. 
The butcher'd body strength enough did crave 
To guide it hobbling to a freeman's grave. 

Funereal honors or the costly tomb 

Could not repay the patriot for his doom ; 

Yet there are those who meaner parts did play, 

With tombs resplendent as the God of day. 

* The body of Piero Maroncelli has been removed by his 
countrymen, and a fine monument erected over liis body. 



93 



ITALY. 

Fair Italy, thou fairy-land of flowers, 
111 sets the wreath upon a tyrant's brow. 

Thou still art lovely in declining hours. 
Ilast thou no Cincinnatus at the plough ? 

Not vain for thee the patriot's blood shall flow 

Thy fattened soil the stouter hearts shall grow. 



94 



AN INVECTIVE AGAINST TYRANNY. 

Does Europe's rulers murmur at our slaves ? 

Who would not give to freemen quiet graves? 

Men with nature undisputed as their own, 

Oppressed, trod down, nor pitied when they groan, 

And yet the echo of a groan would make you grieved 

Turn to your homes, begin ye to relieve. 

You dogs dressed in your gold and scarlet coats 

To bark at freemen with your brazen throats ; 

With simoon breath to blight fair freedom's tree, 

All men are selfish, most supremely ye. 

We know your object, what you hope to gain, 

So hold your peace, your labor all is vain. 

He that would scourge asks not if black or white, 

Strength is his guide, he looks not to the right : 

Ours is a wrong, a more than crying shame, 

Sent by your fathers, those you would not blame ! 

But still go on oppressing all you can, 

While we have freedom for your meanest man. 

95 



DINAH DEPUY. 

Here lies a saint thougii born a slave 
None will deny the freedom of tlie grave; 
Her mortal frame may moulder here away 
But heaven has claim'd what never will decay. 
Who has not found in humble life, 

Where heavens ethereal embers burn'd, 
Such noble spirits never were, 

Nor never can to dust be turn'd. 



96 



FOUNTAIN HILL. 

The fount of life in fields of death 
The many distant rills supplying; 

How much like life its stay is breath, 
And flows no more at breath's denying. 



97 



THE FIREMEN'S MONUMENT. 

No more the bell awakes the strong desire, 
Their ashes now contain no living fire ; 
Nor think with pain or pride the perils past, 
But wait unconscious for the trumpet's blast. 

Such men are ours that rather die than yield 

Their country's bulwark, and their country's shield ; 

Yet need restraint ; their passions uncontrolled 

Are fierce, vindictive, virulent, and bold ; 

Their swelling veins if maddened let to go 

Would run to riot and nefarious woe ; 

But to fairly govern and to justly please, 

Our country's fortune much depends on these. 

That power that brings such blessings to our hand, 

And wafts in safety o'er the smiling land. 

If reckless fed, and raised beyond control, 

Will burst in fury and destroy the whole. 

98 



THE FIREMEN'S MONUMENT. 99 

Thus plebeian power to nature ever true, 
It built up Rome, and Rome it overthrew. 

It tyrants check'd, and oft would tyrants slay, 
But knew no bounds, and madden'd in decay. 
'Tis not for all each secret art to scan, 
The arm that labors seldom lays the plan ; 
Each in their place must play their several parts, 
What best befits of Science, or of arts ; 
Each in his place exalts his nation's might. 
And there alone his nation wills his right ; 
With equal check each feels a just control, 
And virtue reigns to harmonize the whole. 



THE EVIL OF INSUBORDINATION. 

Forgive the o'erflowing of an ardent breast, 

With manly strength, and generous heart possess'd. 

They mix what's great and what's weak in man 

Angels can pity, devils never can, 

Stern moralist, hast thou not felt the passion strong 

within 
Thy vanquish'd breast that tempts a man to sin ? 
Then why condemn the youth who chance to trip 
When better fortune would not let thee slip ? 
Too cold for love, thy bosom's feast is hate ; 
Thy rancor'd breast thy prowling cannot sate. 



100 



CONCLLTSIOK 

But noiseless time is stealing on 

That wears this life away, 
And bids the subtle spirit fly 

And leaves its worn and worthless clay. 

Then we must still be journeying on, 

Nor waste that time in song, 
Though in sweet communion with the dead 

A few short hours belong. 

The tombs are past, my song is spent 

This day remember'd be, 
While side by side I drive with time 

Till death shall set me free. 

Adieu ! ye gates, and consecrated ground ; 

Adieu ! ye hills, and shadowy vales around ; 

Adieu ! ye monuments, ye dead, farewell — 

A short farewell, then with you I will dwell. 
101 



CONCLUDING ELEGY. 

I HAVE not toiled to build up fame, 
Nor sought for earthly praise ; 

The gifts the world bestows with fame 
Are envy and delays, 

But as the songster warbling forth 
In sunshine and in shades ; 

Would shun the noisy blast of fame 
Which solitude invades. 

The easy, humble, quiet life 

I hope for is the best ; 
And free from pain I hope to gain 

A place where I may rest. 

When you behold my mossy grave, 

Who chance to pass along. 

As I thought of the sacred dead, 

Think of the child of song. 
102 



CONCLUDING ELEGY. 108 

Nor hide my faults, for faults I have, 

And they are not a few ; 
I only boast an honest heart 

That's tender, kind, and true. 

When gentle zephyrs sweep along, 

Or sigh among the trees. 
Then think upon the Greenwood song, 

And let the spirit please. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



DIRE WINTER RULES THE DREARY 
REALM. 

DiEE Winter rules the dreary realm, 
The sea-gull screams o'er Kill von Kull, 

The hardy boatman dreads the helm, 
And scarcely through the ice can scull. 

And far around for shroud of snow 
The fields have changed their living green, 

The howling winds a tempest blow. 
And desolation rules the scene. 

Thus winter reigns supreme in him, 

Who sees his only joy depart, 

Nor flattering hope, with flitting pulse. 

Warms the least channel of his heart. 
107 



108 DIRE WINTER RULES THE DREARY REALM. 

But let my Mary smile again, 

That pulse how high, that heart how light, 
And silken joy shall drive the pain 

Of shadowy phantoms from ray sight. 

With joy I'll hail the welcome spring, 

To see the elm protect the vine, 
And songsters to their mates shall sing 

And so will I, my valentine. 



FLOW GENTLY, SWEET WAVE. 

Flow gently, sweet wave, glide slowly away. 
For short is thy passage to my dear natal bay ; 
There rolled in some eddy a moment may stay. 
Then launched in the ocean forever and aye. 

Thou mind'st me, bright wave, of life's fickle beam, 
As it glides down the course of its widening stream ; 
A moment in manhood, it may shine on the bay. 
Then sinks all ingulfed in the ocean of spray. 
From the fountain of life, to the ocean of death 
We pause but a moment, we draw but a breath. 



109 



THE CLOVE. 

In search of contentment whoever may rove, 
Though weary, delighted must pause in this clove; 
Where the picture of bliss in fancy may glow, 
And nature's pulse beat to the heart's healthy flow; 
Where the hills will not echo an unholy sound, 
Nor an unhallowed sound through the valley 

rebound ; 
Not a sound that is heard but to heaven will raise, 
Every note that you hear is the music of praise. 
With a smile on the vale stands each hill linked to 

hill. 
And their plumes nod in grandeur to the murmur- 
ing rill ; 
And that smooth glassy lake that's reflecting the sky. 
Is the mirror of heaven where the goddesses vie. 
'Tis the wax- work of paradise, where there's nothing 
forbidden, 

The perfection of nature, the foretaste of heaven. 
110 



THE CLOVE. ^ 111 

Ye toilers for riches, ye slaves from your birth, 
Ye ramblers for pleasure, ye reptiles of earth, 
Who find in your lives not a moment of bliss. 
Come, take ye a view of a model like this, 
Where fancy from truth gets those pictures so rare, 
And mocks every effort to make them more fair; 
And learn, though it's rare when the spot ye shall 

find, 
There's peace and contentment for the virtuous 

mind; 
Though short to the best is the bliss that is given. 
One step to this vale, and another to heaven. 



THE RAIXBOW. 

On- Ararat top our pious parents stood, 

And viewed with joy the slow assuaging flood, 

Nor longed to ride the stormy deep once more, 

Xor mourned the good ship cast upon the shore. 

Nor the lost dove that brought the peaceful spray, 

Nor scattering herds that wind their rugged way. 

Their grateful breasts are filled with pious awe, 

And for the future would some aid implore; 

From each clean herd a sacrifice they fell, 

And smoky altars raised a savoury smell ; 

The Almighty saw and pity moved His breast 

To ease their minds and put their fears at rest ; 

He said " No more on earth shall raging floods be sent, 

And as I swear behold my covenant. 

Seedtime and harvest shall again appear, 

And the rich soil shall bear the loaded ear ; 

The welcome seasons shall in order come, 

And shadowy night to brightest day give room." 
112 



THE RAINBOW. 113 

Then dewy drops through scattering clouds were 

sent 
And the bright sun burst through the firmament; 
The reflected beams with animating glare, 
Draw the bright colors from the ambient air, 
In order each, and radiant as they glow. 
In the bright heavens they form a brighter bow. 
The waves supporting either end below. 
Their fears are now in admiration lost. 
Their toils forgot and stormy waves that's crossed. 
And view the truth as high in heaven it shone. 
That God and mercy ever shall be one. 

As heavenly truth awoke my slumbering fire, 
So semblance strong still keeps me to the lyre ; 
As from the clouds Sol calls the colors true, 
So light increased gives truth a brighter hue. 
It stands a bow to mind of debts that's paid, 
Of punished sin, of righteousness the aid ; 
Its form an arch, and as an arch 'tis strong, 
And as to heaven and earth it does belong, 
It rests on earth and bends the heavens along ; 
Its colors pure, so pure is heaven from crime ; 
As grand to view, so heaven is most sublime. 



THE SETTING STAR (VexNus). 

I SAW the lovely queen of night, 

Smiling in the western sky, 
It filled my soul with rapture bright, 

To see the laughter-loving eye. 

Her last looks were upon the wave. 
She brightened as she near'd the deep, 

She smiled upon the watery grave — 
That grave which makes so many weep. 

She is gone beyond the briny wave, 
No more she shines — the star of heaven — 

She sank behind the yearning grave, 
Bright stars but for a time are given. 

Yet heaven is filled with feebler fires, 

That spread around a lustre bright, 

United in their strength conspire 

To light the wanderer through the night, 
114 



THE SETTING STAB. 116 

So perish every star of earth, 

They only for a season shine, 
But still they hope a heavenly birth. 

Who cherish faith and love divine. 



THE SEASONS ALL MUST OWN THEIR 
BOUNDS. 

The seasons all must own their bounds, 
The fiercest storm must lull its blast ; 

The sweetest Spring that e'er's enjoyed 
Is when the dreariest winter's past. 

Thus, Mary, hope can brace the nerves, 
To bear the violence of the blast. 

That when the raging storm is spent 
To rest within thy arms at last. 



116 



TO MISS . 

I've seen the sullen winter sun, 
Twice fourteen times return ; 

But still as colder blew those storms, 
The more did summer burn. 

But still with you that wintry frown. 
Through every change I trace, 

That's left in me an icy chill 
That time cannot erase. 



117 



THE POETRY OF NATURE. 

There's poetry in every scene, 

There's music in tlie spheres, 
There's harmony in every theme, 

Where nature's throne uprears. 

The warbling of the feathered throng, 
The murmuring of the running rill, 

The insects' call joined to the song. 
Thus all dissolved sweet notes distill. 

Like distant mountains wrapt in mist. 
Or lofty glaciers towering high. 

With scenes that mock learned diction's list. 
Behold the grandeur of the sky. 

Thus all resolved ray soul may be. 

When my body lies beneath the sod. 

In nature's truest poetry — 

The fittest offering for its God. 
118 



I'LL NEVER STRIKE THE LYRE AGAIN. 

I'll never strike the lyre again, 
No more its music makes me glad, 

For every fool has got his theme, 

And mine perhaps may sound as bad. 

Classic brute, and Classic man, 

Alike but ink historic page ; 
Then learn and live— live while you can, 

And let no thought but life engage. 



119 



IF MARY WILL BUT SMILE. 

May 1st, 1850. 

Haw gently spring is riding in ; on the welcome bull 

he is borne, 
While rich the wreaths of flowers are wound on 

either horn ; 
The fragrant falling blossoms a rich profusion yields, 
While gladdening vital lustre is brightening all the 

fields ; 
The crocus and the hyacinth, they now must yield 

the sway, 
And the early gay narcissus no longer looks so gay ; 
The sprightly, feathered warblers, with notes so loud 

and clear. 
Are singing, 'mid the blooming trees, the promise of 

the year : 
Thus gay the face of nature the flitting hours can 

wile, 

And every change shall cheer me if Mary will but 

smile. 

120 



THE COMPLAINT. 

In vain I turn the vocal lyre, 
The ear unwilling hears the strain ; 

Bereft of all its heavenly fire, 

And every earthly sense but pain. 

But only let my Mary smile, 

And all around shall seem more gay ; 
The changing scenes the hours shall wile, 

And joy shall greet each coming day. 

Then side by side again we'd rove, 
And strive the fairest flowers to cull, 

Careless to every thought but love, 
On blooming banks of Kill von Kull. 



121 



THOSE EARLY WALKS THAT WE HAVE 
TAKEN. 

Those early walks that I have taken, 

With the ones I loved so well — 
On grounds that long have been forsaken, 

Fond the memory loves to dwell. 

Bold invader with thy treasure, 

Spoil not that ancient hedge or lane — 

Sacred spots to heavenly pleasure, 
With thy toil so fraught with pain. 

My unseen ghost I want should visit 
Those sacred lonesome spots again ; 

There on some well-known rock to sit. 
And think not all of life was pain. 



122 



THE ECHO OF HOME. 

What spell is it that charms me, that I never would 

shun, 
That warms the chilled heart like a mild winter's 

sun ? 
What fancy pursues me, though far I may roam ? 
'Tis the deep rolling echo of my dear native home. 

The old faithful watch-dog as he greets me with 

joy* 

The fond mother's call to her young roving boy ; 
The stern sacred bee, as she hums her own tale, 
And the morals still echo from my dear native 
vale. 

The horse's shrill whinny as he sniffs up the gale, 

The deep lowing herds, as they stroll through the 

vale, 

The sweet singing birds on the orchard's low trees, 

Oh ! this is an echo so charming to please. 
123 



124 THE ECHO OF HOME. 

The wild shouts of joy as the woodland we rove, 
The sad, plaintive strain of the still mourning dove, 
The rough flapping sound of the discordant sail, 
Oh ! this is the echo of my dear native vale. 

Thou idol of manhood, why burst on my strain? 
Be silent, kind memory, oh ! bring not your pain ; 
Why blight ye my fancy with that still blasting 

tale, 
'Tis not the echo of my dear native vale. 

When the father of exiles shall beckon me home. 
And bid the lorn stranger no longer to roam, 
With joy I will greet it, and then with a smile. 
Mount on an echo of my dear native isle. 



WOMAN'S HEART. 

Who lias not found a woman's heart 
Is harder than a brazen shield ; 

And seen full many a blunted dart, 
Before its stubborn casement yield ! 



125 



TIME. 

Time's always mad, when we are glad, 
And flaps his wings and flies away ; 

And lags again when we are sad, 
And where he's welcome will not stay. 



126 



MARY. 

There's music in that holy somidj 
That charms me like a fairy. 

I could not love a lass 

Unless her name was Mary. 



127 



THE OLD CRUSER BURYING-PLACE. 

Oh, sacred spot, where human dust 
Lies mouldering 'neath neglected stone, 

Is this the end of human trust ? 

How happy then when fate's unknown. 

Who that these moss-bound stones shall see 
Shall wonder that the bard has sung ; 

They seem to bend in sympathy. 
And almost seem to have a tongue. 

Even this old barn would stand on them. 
Had I not kept it from the line ; 

I could not pile unhallowed stone 
Upon an ancient worthy line. 

Then let us learn from this a truth — 

Though great in life that die we must ; 
Embrace the time while we are here 

And leave the rest to heavenly trust. 

128 



THE STORM. 

At sea near JSeio Jersey Coast, July 10, 1878. 

How strange to think that I am here, 

And, stranger yet, to have nft fear ! 

Surrounded by the boundless deep. 

The stormy clouds above us sweep; 

Darkness hanging like a pall. 

O'er pur noble wooden wall ; 

Loud the distant thunders roar, 

And vivid flashes light the shore ; 

But strong the nerve is braced 'gainst fear, 

When Thou, O God ! we know art near. 

Through storm and calm, through light and dark, 

And joys and ills Thou guidest our bark ; 

Through Thee alone we enter life. 

Through Thee alone we bear the strife, 

And when at length the strife is past, 

Thine is the haven sought at last, 
9 129 



TO LAURA PELTON, ON THE DEATH OF 
HER FATHER. 

Written in the special car while riding to the grave of my 
cousin, William Tilden Pelton, July, 1880. 

Oh ! child, bereft of a dear father's love, 

A charming, youthful, helpless, fluttering dove, 

Still there is left a heavenly Father's care, 

And still to heaven thou art a rightful heir. 

And short at most the journey here below, 

And vain the glitter of its gaudy show. 

But nature, teeming with a generous glow 

Of healthful life, through all its creatures flow, 

Bids you arise and take an equal share 

Of earthly joys, and youthful earthly care. 

When, worn at length, we feel life's journey end, 

Memory awakes, and life new pleasure lends. 

Life swiftly glides — we see the heavenly charms, 

Our parents beckon with their open arms ; 
130 



TO LAURA P ELTON. 1^ 

Oh ! then thy life shall doubly be repaid, 
An earth-born child, a heavenly cherub made. 
Thy spirit, fleeing far from earth's alarms. 
Shall rest an angel in thy father's arras. 



MY OLD SHOES. 

And must we part, my dear old friends, 

So constant and so true ; 
A friend in need is a friend indeed. 

Although a poor old shoe. 

Together we have often strode, 

In pleasure or in pain, 
Companions, if I walked or rode, 

In sunshine or in rain. 

And now to think that we must part. 
As best of friends must part, — 

To think new friendships must be formed, 
It almost breaks my heart. 

Nor love I less for service past, 

Down-trodden and forlorn, 

I've loved thee well from last to last, 

But most since beauty's shorn. 
132 



MY OLD SHOES. 133 

But sad, oh ! sad, is common fate, 

The ash-heap and the shoe, 
But doubly sad when we reflect 

We'll soon be ashes too. 



TO SOPHIE. 

In days whilom when youth and health 
Their wanton course to rapture led, 

Had I such charming influence met, 
For fear of capture should have fled. 

But now to age serener comes, 
An angel face — an angel breath ; 

A foretaste of our heavenly hopes, 
Before we feel the sting of death. 



134 



FRIENDSHIP TO SAMUEL BURGER. 

TniMTiEST thou, Samuel, heaven's but a name. 
Then whence came friendship's true and holy flame ? 
The only passion in the human breast 
That's not of selfishness supreme possessed. 
That feels another's woes, another's wrongs, 
Nor thinks the pain alone to him belongs. 
That hails the joy within his fellow's breast, 
And feels more bliss than by himself possessed ; 
When fortune courts, would have him share his lot, 
When foes beset to shun the impending shock, 
Our friend we seek, our confidant and rock. 
Should heaven's true record every motive name, 
'Tis this alone that would not put to shame. 
The patriot's flame ambition would disgrace, 
And anxious love would hide his blushing face. 



135 



THE KISS. 

Those lips so high, 

Those eyes so shy, 

Who could refuse a kiss? 

Oil, Time, ye slowly pain destroy. 

How soon ye perish, earthly joy ; 

How short is earthly bliss ! 



136 



ON THE DEATH OF MY LITTLE DOG « LILY." 

Died September 10, 1883. 

On, Jennie dear ! my thoughts on thee, 

As little Lily leaves my arms. 
And must each gentle spirit flee 

Till earth for me has lost its charms ? 

Only a little dog 'tis true, 

But dear, oh dear ! that dog to me, 

She was a kindred friend with you 
And warmed the love I have for thee. 

Still nature, kind, has love for me ; 

It warms the heart but does not shine ; 
For soon, too soon, its charms they flee, 

Till naught is felt but love divine. 

When from earthly cares at length I rest, 

And seek the mansions of my God, 

There in the chambers of the blest, 

I'd love to meet my little dog, 
137 



on, LOVELIEST STAR OF NIGHT THAT 
SHINES. 

Oh, loveliest star of night that shines 

To my benighted soul, 
Oh, may its ruling influence bright, 

My walks on earth control. 

And may the love of Jennie's heart 

My bosom ever warm. 
And may its gentle influence guide 

My walks on earth from harm. 

Oh, holy Power, that rules the earth 

And guides the rolling spheres, 
Oh, Power of powers that rules above, 

And all that life endears. 

If in Thy power and in Thy love, 

And laws to nature given. 
Can hear the prayer of suffering love 

Appealing to high Heaven, 

138 






LOVELIEST STAR OF NIGHT THAT SHINES. 139 

May I my earthly task fulfil, 
With -wisdom such as given, 

Then soul to soul united till 
The end of earth — and heaven. 



MY JENNIE'S GRAVE. 

When^ I have left this world of care, 
And given to earth, all earth can crave, 

Who will the garland wreaths prepare 
To decorate my Jennie's grave ? 

Sad is the thought, and hard to bear, 
But sadder was the hour of parting. 

But stricken life can thus prepare 
To calmly meet the hour of starting 

To worlds unknown. Oh, dreadful thought! 

When unprepared by sorrows deep, 
And disappointed hopes are taught 

That we are here alone to weep. 

And work, and toil, and seek for joys 

That carnal thought can never give. 

Till heavenward turned, by blessed alloys, 

To seek the life that heaven can give. 
140 



MT JENNIE'S GRAVE. 141 

Then garland, wreaths and halos bright, 
And roses sweet around her bloom, 

And gentle twilight's softer light 
Alternate change from glorious noon. 

Perhaps my narrow fancy paints 

This heavenly change in earthly hue. 

But this is free from narrow taint — 
That earth is frail and heaven is true. 



OH, JENNIE DEAR! OH, JENNIE DEAR! 

Can I forget her lovely form, 

That angel all divine, — 
How could I hope to have her here 

Within these arms of mine ? 

Oh, Jennie dear ! Oh, Jennie dear ! 

Oh, still remember me. 
And mix what joy on earth I have 

With constant thought of thee. 

Still as in life I onward plod. 

Thy constant form is near, — 
And with my angel and my God, 

What dangers need I fear ? 

Oh, Jennie dear ! Oh, Jennie dear I 

Oh, still remember me. 

And mix what joy on earth I have 

With constant thought of thee. 
142 



OH, JENNIE BEAR ! OTT, JENNIE DEAR ! 143 

Still, rolling Time, move gently on, 

With love and thoughts above, 
To meet my angel and my God, 

'Twill then be perfect love. 

Oh, Jennie dear ! Oh, Jennie dear .' 

Oh, still remember me. 
And mix the love in heaven above 

With constant thought of thee. 



BUT STILL I KNOW MY JENNIE'S DEAD. 

But still I know my Jennie's dead ; 

I know she cannot be, 
Save in my dreams, and wandering though Ls, 

Attached on earth to me. 

I wander round in loneliness 

Among the gay and blest. 
But turn me from this world of strife, 

I only seek for rest. 



144 



ON THE DEATH OF MRS. BURKMAN'S 
DARLING CHILD. 

Almighty Father, blest be Thy will, 
We humbly bow beneath the rod. 

Hush ! be still, my murmuring heart, 
The messenger has come from God, 

Who sent his loving, blessed Son, 
To our accursed and fallen race ; 

His glorious light the victory won. 
And all that seek may find His grace. 

Think of the God who sent his son. 

An offering dear on Calvary ; 
The sacrifice was meant for all, 

And surely it was shed for thee. 

Now He has called thy darling home, 

Pure, untainted, by our fallen race ; 

She has gone to join that heavenly throng 

Eternal love her dwelling-place, 
10 145 



146 ON THE DEATH OF 3PRS. BURKMAN'S CHILD. 

Eternal hope, earth's dearest friend, 
Inspire thy breast to thoughts above. 

With hopes to meet thy angel dear 
In realms where dwell eternal love. 



ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPPHNE. 

Sleep ! sister, sleep ! to thee is given, 
The joy, the blessedness of heaven ; 

K we possessed our Saviour's grace, 
We'd gladly take thy resting-place. 

What more could sinful man have given, 

To satisfy a righteous God ; 
The greatest blessing sent from Heaven, 

Is laid beneath the cold, cold sod. 

What less could bounteous Heaven receive, 
That all our joy and blessings give ; 

Afflictions for awhile may grieve, 
But come that every soul may live. 

Then, mourner, by your loss improve — 

Think why the Lamb of God was slain ; 

Thy sin contemns a Saviour's love, 

And crucifies your Lord again. 
147 



EMMA MOTT. 

And is it now a worthless corse, 

That once I loved to kiss ? 
Ah, no ! that which I loved so well, 

Has entered into bliss. 

It is the tenement alone, 

That mouldering back to clay ; 

That spark with its refulgent light, 
Is a celestial ray. 

And, Emma, we shall meet again, 

And I behold that face. 
That had such power on earth to charm, 

With all its heavenly grace. 



148 



I WOULD NOT HAVE THEE BACK, MY LOVE. 

I WOULD not have thee hack, my love. 
What ! call thee to this world again ? 

Where loveliest day but breeds a storm, 
And sweetest smiles may end in pain. 



149 



ON THE DEATH OF MAMIE E. BENEDICT 
BASINGER. 

June 13th, 1896. 

An, cruel Death, what hast thou done, 

Thinketh thou another victory won ! 

Ah no ! hear'st thou the song 

That swelleth from that angel throng. 

Celestial robed, divinely bright. 

And seen alone by heavenly light. 

Thou early claimed the mortal shade, 

But canst the Heavenly bourne invade, 

Where swift the immortal spirit flies 

To realms unseen by mortal eyes. 

Where gathering Angels round her sing 

And hear the Saviour's welcome ring. 

Divinely blest, we hear the Saviour say. 

While we stand weeping o'er the mortal clay. 



MEMOKT* 

On the death of Mamie E. Basinger. 

The friend of the past no grief can restore her, 
But the joy of the past is in memory's recorder ; 
Down deep in my heart, where my life's blood is 

beating, 
Lies the green grave of sorrow ; still the joys are 

repeating. 
When our deep sorrows yield to the slumbers of 

night, 
Then memory restores the gay dreams of delight, 
And we live once again in the scenes of the past. 
And wish, when awakened, that they ever might last. 

* Written in the Catskill Mountains, Sept. Cth, 1896. 



151 



I 



WRITTEN VALENTINE'S DAY, AFTER THE 
DEATH OF . 

No more you'll see your Valentine, 
Unless that sight by God is given ; 

For He who sent her here to bud. 
Has taken her to bloom in Heaven. 

The joyous memory of the past, 
The memory of those writhing pains, 

The tears of friends that she amassed, 
Is all of her that now remains. 

Dear is the tribute each doth pay. 
Even dear the memory of her pain — 

For well we know it was the way 
That she her glorious end did gain. 

And dearer now does seem the abode, 

Of that blest welcome resting-place. 

Nor do we fear that dreary road. 

Nor dread the storms that we must face. 
152 



VALEN TINE' S DAY. 153 

When some dear one a-travelling goes, 
To some far country's glorious round, 

'Tis then the heart a yearning knows, 
And gladly to that land would bound. 



ON THE DEATH OF PETER THE FLOWER 
BOY. 

(Drowned at Next} Brighton) tvho every few days, summer and 
winter, xoould decorate himself from head to toe xoith the 
most beautiful flowers, and promenade the roads for miles 
around. 

Oh ! where is posy Peter gone ? 

The rose it droops its head ; 
Why should it bloom on this dark waste, 

Or idly fragrance shed ? 

Old Pluto had no peace below, 

For Proserpina railed — 
His scorching realms her seed would blast. 

And oft her labor failed. 

In vain he brought down foreign seed, 

Or called down heavenly showers, 

Still rage or gloom would o'er her reign. 

Her joy was in the flowers. 
154 



DEATH OF PETER THE FLOWER BOY. 155 

Full well she knew of Peter's fame, 
For from heaven to Pluto's gloom 

Had spread the splendor of his name, 
In fragrant gorgeous bloom. 

And she would have him down below, 

To raise her drooping flowers. 
And bring them back to earthly bloom 

To deck her maiden bowers. 

The jealous god is forced to come 

And steal the boy away, 
And leave our land in sombre gloom 

To cheer his realm with day. 

Oh ! there was joy in Kingdom-come, 

Among the rosy bowers. 
With amaranthine wreaths they crown 

And hail him, Prince of flowers. 



ON THE DEATH OF ANDREW JACKSON 
DOWNING. 

The roses droop, the lilies pine, 
Their guardian angel now no more. 

In vain we bud the eglantine, 

Or heavenly showers upon them pour. 

He sleeps as sleep the flowers gone 

When chill November blasts the plain ; 

But not like flowers o'er him we mourn 
That spring shall bid return again. 

Yes, he shall bloom beyond this vale ; 

lie still shall be their guardian power ; 
He'll scent the rose in every gale. 

And visit them in every shower. 



156 



TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. 

Let Scotia boast her tuneful sons, 
Whose glory shall forever stand, 

Though her fruitful throes should never bring 
Another bard to bless her land. 

But from that gathered throng of fame, 
The heart in fulness fondly turns, 

And o'er the memory sheds a tear 
For truest, noblest, sweetest Burns. 



157 



TO MARY. 

Though sullen Winter hold its throne, 
The genial sun oft sheds a beam 

That wakes fond nature's softest tone, 
And calls my Mary to ray theme. 

What fans that secret smouldering fire, 
That ever burns to be possessed ? 

What lights the flame of strong desire 
That to my Mary stands confessed ? 

How vain is all the pride of life. 
How vain the treasures here we gain, 

How vain our selfish worldly strife. 
How vain our toil, our sweat, our pain. 

Unless some genial social tie. 

Shall twine itself about the heart. 
To make our cares, our troubles, fly, 

And of ourselves become a part ! 

158 



THE WESTERN HUNTER. 

Seek not the city's smoky den, 

Or slimy marshes morbid fen ; 
On the mountain's craggy side 

Is freedom's home — the patriot's pride. 

In Luxury's lap young Edwin nursed, 
That vainly human woes would soothe ; 

We still must bear that early curse 

Though wealth our path may strive tosniooth. 

He grew a sapling, tall and smooth. 

Unfit for toil, but strong to love ; 
How short that joy, how love's abused, 

When falcon hunts the turtle-dove ! 

She died of grief and cold neglect — 

He, mad with love, has left his home ; 

Time has his heartless parents wrecked : 

Behold the sturdy hunter roam. 
159 



160 THE WESTERN HUNTER. 

His coal-black steed, with eye of fire, 
With ample chest, and flowing mane, 

His master's will his great desire, 
He scarcely needs the guiding rein. 

'Twas his to find the doubtful path. 
The rider's part to seek the game, 

Though each could bear the traveller's part, 
And both could feel the hunter's flame, 

He glories in the rising war, 

His strength can nerve the rider's breast ; 
His steed can feel the rider's fire, 

Thus each the other's soul possessed. 

He taught the passions wild to flow — 
A genei'ous friend, a mortal foe ; 

He gloried in the equal fight 
But never in the overthrow. 

He would not wear his limbs with toil, 
For all was his that nature bred ; 

Nor would he load his arms with spoil, 
But trusted Him who sparrows fed. 



THE WESTERN HUNTER. 161 

Unmoved he heard the battle's din, 

Unshaken saw the grizzly die ; 
But tears they flow at mercy's call 

And all awake to pity's cry. 

His heart is like a lion's strong, 

With eye as gentle as a dove, 
He seems like one that always has, 

And always would the mountains rove. 

Sarap and hunting-coat he wore, 

And buckskins deep, and breeches flare ; 

His rifle o'er his shoulder slung, 

Fixed to his sash his knife did glare. 

Thus shone our chief, the western pride, 
What time swift rumor's frightful tale 

Told to torture given, a captured maid — 
I'll die, he swears, or will prevail. 

And here I'll cease, for I'm content — 

Enough my tale to fancy gives, 
Enough to tell our hero went. 

And, having been, that still he lives. 



II 



THERE IS AN ARM TO SAVE. 

Why mourn you for the distant one ? 

Have ye beheld his grave ? 
Why lean ye not on bracing hope, 

While there's an Arm to save ? 

Though blackest clouds are loosened wild, 

And maddened billows rave, 
Yet mourn not for the living one. 

For there's an Arm to save. 

Why mourn ye for the perished one, 
Who sank beneath the wave ? 

Is there no port beyond this life 
Where there's an Arm to save ? 



162 



COME, JESU, KIND AND LIVING GOD. 

Come, Jesu, kind and loving God, 

A sinner's cries attend ; 
Save us from the chastening rod, 

And all our ways defend. 

Let not an humble suppliant's cry 

Be heard in Heaven in vain ; 
But send Thy mercy from on high. 

And free a soul from pain. 

Save us with that precious blood, 

Which Thou alone could give. 
And thousand thousands still may save, 

But none without can live. 



163 



ON RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS. 

March, 1849. 

Rising from a bed of pain, 

From foul disease, I slowly gain : 

Corruption's slow refluent course 

My feeble powers can scarcely force. 

All nature smiles around serene, 

The laughing fields assume their green. 

The air with humming insects ring. 

And little songsters gayly sing. 

Suffering with o'erwhelming pain 

I longed for death — but longed in vain ; 

The tedious time crept slowly by, 

And hard the strings of life did try. 

Seeing all nature teem with life, 

I, gladly too, will join the strife. 

To shrink from pain, and death would shun. 

Rejoice that Heaven, Thy will be done : 
164 



ON RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS. 165 

But what most now to comfort tends, 

To meet the greeting of my friends, 

Who, wondering, see that I'm alive. 

And hope that I may live and thrive, 

And blest with health and strength and years. 

But most my drooping spirit cheers. 

To see the maiden's lovely tear, 
Not like those tears in sorrow shed ; 

Like joy that's risen over fear, 

Shining like stars when storms have fled. 

Yet all to death in time must yield, 
To seek a land, we are told, more blest; 

Yet may I toil on many a field, 
Ere with my fathers I must rest. 



WRITTEN FOR THE ORPHAN CHILDREN'S 
HOME. 

We thank the Lord that gave us birth, 

The Lord that saves the soul, 
Who thinks His meanest creatures worth 

His guardian control. 
He guides us o'er the desert land, 

Or on the stormy seas ; 
He bids the raging waters rise, 

And cahiis them at His ease : 
My father's home was on tlie wave — 
That wave is now my father's grave. 

And when He drove that ship a wreck, 

'Twas not without a will — 
And He our orphan tears to check 

Is Father to us still. 

He guardians to our aid did bring, 

And we our grief did tell, 
166 



THE ORPHAN CHILDREN'S HOME. 167 

That touched the heart's most tuneful string, 

And thus the numbers fell : 
My father's home was on the wave — 
That wave is now my father's grave. 



THE LAMB OF CALVARY. 

When first the soul the body warms 
With life-inspiring breath, 

Who but the Lamb of Calvary- 
Can save the soul from death ? 

When thoughtless youth, in search of joy, 
Would drive that soul to wreck, 

Who but the Lamb of Calvary 
Can total ruin check ? 

When gathering round our riper years, 

We see our offspring rise. 
Who but the Lamb of Calvary 

Can counsel and advise ? 

When frosty time shall bow our heads, 

And our full days are given. 

Who but the Lamb of Calvary 

Can bear that soul to heaven? 
168 



IS THIS MY MARY'S HOME ? 

Is this the place where Marj'' dwelt, 

Is this my Mary's home, 
Where mirth and joy harmonious dealt? 

How have these raptures flown ! 

No more the organ's sacred sound 

Swells to my Mary's touch, 
Her harp if touched sheds discord round.s 
Why have I seen it such ? 

Discord and rage, dispute the ground 

Sacred to peace and love ; 
Soft peace within no more is found, 

And far has flown the dove. 



169 



THOU WHO OF HOPE COULD FONDLY 
SING. 

Thou who of hope could fondly sing, 
Or tell the woes of Wyoming ; 
Or chant some legendary tale, 
May o'er a stubborn heart prevail. 

Then give that vanquished heart to me ; 
Or bid it set its captive free — 
Or lend thy power of song awhile 
That I may win my Mary's smile. 



170 



THE STOLEN LOCK. 

Poor captive, thou has lost thy place, 
No more on Mary's neck to wave, 

Where once you added grace to grace. 
How fallen, since thou art a slave ! 

I fain would gain'd her heart and soul, 
But blunted many a harmless dart. 

And when I could not get the whole, 
I thought no harm to steal a part. 

If, like this lock, I'd see thee fail, 
And in ray care thy beauty pine, 

Then I'm content — I can't prevail. 
And make such heavenly graces mine. 



171 



THINK I CAN'T LOVE WHEN FAR AWAY ! 

Think I can't love when far away ! 

When nature smiles in grandeur round, 
And social voices round me play, 

I'll hear my love in every sound. 

Think I can't love when far away ! 

Tho' tempest fills the stormy scene, 
And fortune sends an adverse day, 

My love shall make my life serene. 

Think I can't love when far away ! 

Though gulfs and seas may rage between ; 
Or desert wilds my journey stay. 

My love shall make that desert green. 



1 



172 



REPENTANCE. 

On ! give me my first love again, 

That fanned my passions to a flame — 

Who first I loved, who first I feared. 

Who first my frightened passions cheered- 

ril never, never, rove again. 

Nor fill that honest heart with pain. 



173 



THE PASSIONS BURNING. 

HoAv long my muse neglected lay, 
While I in pleasure spent my time. 

I seek the long deserted way, 

To drown my sorrow in my rhyme. 

Tell me, ye nine, has Cupid fled. 
For yours alone it is to know : 

For sure the urchin is not dead, 
He seeks new arrows for his bow. 

Oh no ! no galling arrow flies, 
'Tis loving Venus' fondest rest : 

And now she only opes my eyes. 
That I may see myself more blest. 

'Tis the strong pulse and not the wound 

That from the heart so freely flows. 

That runs its rapid course around. 

And still its wonted way it knows. 
174 



I CANNOT BOAST OF LOVE DIVINE. 

TO SOPHIA. 

I CANNOT boast of love divine, 

For I am of a mortal line ; 

Nor know I how the gods do love ; 

Nor court I as the turtle-dove. 

But 'tis a truth confessedly, 

I never loved a girl like thee. 

Heroes may smile where cannons roar. 

And face where iron tempests pour. 

And soldier-like may bear the smart. 

But who can bear 'gainst Cupid's dart ? 

Believe me, braver far than me 

Have died, by feebler far than thee. 



175 



ON FINDING A DEAD SWALLOW. 

If I thought you'd died of love, 

I'd sing the swallow not the dove ; 

But ever dark must be thy fate, 

Since man with bird cannot translate 

Death doth alike on all await, 

Naught else can the Destroyer sate ; 

I often read but knew no dove, 

Who pined in groves and died of love ; 

And none will lose believing me 

'Tis better far from death to flee ; 

Live not alone, but seek a mate. 

You'll find some bride will on thee wait ; 

For Adam sooner far had died. 

Than lived on earth without a bride. 

Like thee, poor bird, we're born to sorrow, 

But let us love, nor fear the morrow. 

Thy birth a swallow had set free. 

But death, alas ! has swallowed thee. 
176 



THE WISH. 

OifCE, as I drove my hardy steers, 
Enthroned upon a himber'd car, 

Bright Venus rose above the hills — 
I scarce believed it was a star. 

I thought it was Latana's son 
Leading his steeds before his car, 

And as I gazed it glowed and shone, 
But owned at length it was a star. 

Thus I beheld a maiden bright 
Of face, and form, and grace divine. 

So fit she seem'd for heavenly flight, 
I dared not hope to make her mine. 

I wished that she had been that star. 

And I had been the favored god : 

Or I, Apollo's shining car. 

And she to hold the reins and rod. 
12 177 



DRYADS, I HAVE LOST MY LOVE. 

Dkyads, I have lost ray love — 

Guide me to my Flora ; 
I cannot live without my dove 

So much I do adore her. 

The wine and oil shall freely flow, 
The gentlest lamb I'll offer — 

All these I'd gladly give to know 
If my love has turned a scoft'er. 

But sure some storm is gathering nigh, 
Or those eyes so dim and darkling, 

Would, like the glow-worm in the night. 
Be for her Damon sparkling. 

Some wandering comet thus I'm here, 

Whose course is all distraction ; 
The sport of every social sphere. 

Nor feels its true attraction. 

178 



DRYADS, I HA VE LOST MY LOVE. 179 

Perhaps Orion, envious god ! 

Forgets the sister pleiads 
And claims those eyes to gild his sword, 

Oil, tell ! some gentle naiad. 



TO JENNY H 

The summer clouds they often frown, 
And vernal joys scarce dare to shine, 

But softer scenes those storms must crown. 
So smiles succeed those frowns of thine. 



180 



TO CUPID. 

Cupid, I'll have a quarrel with thee, 
Unless thou go away from me ; 
You little rogue, you seem possessed 
To aim your darts at my sore breast. 
Go, villain ! seek for manlier toil. 
Or let some school-boy be thy spoil ; 
Dost thou never mean to cease, 
And leave the weak to dwell in peace ? 
Why wast thou always made a boy. 
With thy folly to annoy ? 
You had better change thy life, 
Become a man, and take a wife. 
Then you'll learn what you begun 
Does not always end in fun. 
Begone, I say, and quit thy folly, 
Or I'll go and quarrel with Polly. 

181 



A SONNET. 

I WILL love thee still, 
Though thy heart may chill; 
The eyes I cherish 
Never will perish. 

Though far we may sever, 
Forget them I'll never ; 
Till life flits away 
Their light they'll display. 

And fill with delight 
Like that star of the west ; 
'Twill gladden my twilight, 
And welcome my rest. 



182 



YE LITTLE BIRDS, AWAKE NO NOTE. 

Ye little birds, awake no note. 

Ye fly too cheerily from the spray ; 
Too soft ye on your pinions float. 

Ye cannot drive my grief away. 

But if ye mourn, come mourn with me. 

Together by this rill we'll lie. 
And nature, that's forever free, 

With murmuring brooks and winds shall sigh. 



183 



LOVE. 

Love it is a holy name, 
The mimic of a heavenly flame ; 
Too pure the passion seems for earth, 
We deem it of a heavenly birth ; 
Love the passions can command. 
Mortals linking hand in hand ; 
The only foe for which he'll flee 
Is the fell demon, Jealousy. 



184 



I NEVER TOLD THEE THAT I LOVED. 

I NEVEK told thee that I loved, 
But think me not a stone unmoved ; 
I feel the flame, I own its power. 
And, longing, hope a happier hour. 



185 



TO ISABEL. 

'TwouLD seem the Almighty Power above, 
His creatures formed for hate and love. 
Some He His warmest love has willed, 
Whilst some with deepest hate distilled ; 
Some have an equal share from Heaven, 
And freedom's blessed choice is given. 
Then may it never be thy fate. 
That birth or choice has given thee hate ; 
Oh never ! never ! it were shame 
That love like mine should end in pain. 
Oil ! would my verse had power to tell 
How much I love my Isabel ; 
And when that love was known to thee, 
That joy for joy thou'd give to me. 
Then might I sing with Isabel 
That my fond love's reciprocal. 

186 



HEAR ME! HEAR ME! ISABEL. 

Hear me! hear nie! Isabel! 
My heart my fondest passions tell, 
While I pour my soul away, 
Hear the lover's fondest lay. 

Love has a sickening sound, 'tis true, 
It must not, cannot, sicken you, 
When friendship adds its holy name 
Unto that erring, headlong flame. 
In friendship first my love began, 
To trace his love, all ! tell who can. 
My bosom held the smouldering sliame. 
Till vent it found and burst in flame. 



187 



WHY SHOULD MY ROSE NEGLECTED LIE. 

Why should my rose neglected lie, 
And wither in this dark alcove — 

Neglected beauty thus to die, 

And perish with the charms of love. 

Neglected thus all beauty flies, 

When sick'ning thought clings to despair 
Unheeded treasure withering lies 

That's worth more than the miser's care. 



188 



THAT HAPPY TIME WILL COME, MARY. 

That happy time will come, Mary, 

This storm will pass away — 
The clouds they are but airy. 

And powerful is the day. 

The sun he shines more glorious, 
When through the storm he sweeps, 

Than Aurora gently rising 
To tell the world she sleeps. 

Hold love and hope in friendship, 
And wait the welcome hour — 

Nor be less kind than nature 
Who blessed thee with such power. 



189 



YOUNG MALTNDA. 

Young Malinda, fresh and fair, 
With open brow, and eyes of fire — 

Witli rosy clieeks, and curly hair. 
And lips that might the gods inspire. 

But young Malinda had a fault — 
That fault her dearest friends had stung ; 

She'd fly to rage, in fierce assault, 
Much higher than my lyre is strung. 

In vain Malinda touched the lyre. 

For she would not her i-age control — 

Her heart too easy fanned to fire 
For muse's power to charm her soul. 

Now young Malinda's friends were few, 

And they of mildest kind, 

Who checked the torrent of her soul, 

By passions more refined. 
190 



YOUNG MA LINDA. 191 

Now, Mary, pray, a warning take, 
You have Malinda's charms and grace ; 

Know every fault that you forsake 
At least ten blessings take its place. 



SEE HOW MATILDA SCORNS MY LOVE. 

See how Matilda scorns my love, 
My song has lost its power to move ; 
The grace of song alone is mine, 
And she contemns its power divine. 

All lost to her the sacred fire, 
No rosy wreaths entwine my lyre ; 
Matilda will not lend an ear, 
Nor deign a smile my song to cheer. 

Yet let me praise, ye sacred nine, 
Matilda's grace that's all divine — 
And bid my echoing song arise 
To bear her praise along the skies. 



192 



TO ISABEL. 

Pegaseax maids, ye nymphs divine, 
The guardians of the sacred line, 
And most, Erato, with me dwell. 
Whilst I sing of my Isabel. 

I would not ask of haughty fame 
To give to me a poet's name ; 
I only crave the power to tell 
How well I love my Isabel. 



193 



STILL I LOVE THEE. 

And still I love thee, Isabel, 
And how I long with thee to dwell. 
Had latent love the power to tell 
Our loves would be reciprocal. 



194 



TO CAMILLA. 

Had thy beauty well been known, 
First in verse thou might have shone, 
Thy splendor then we might rehearse, 
In sweet Anacreon's gayest verse ; 
And Solomon had made thee chord 
With the grandeur of his Lord. 



195 



TO MARY. 

Since Cupid's adamantine points, 
Have failed to pierce thy steel-clad heart, 

I'll try thy armor at its joints, 
With the gentler muse's dart. 

Then listen, Mary, to my art. 

While for the prize I touch the string ; 
And take that casement from thy heart, 

And let me bays and myrtles bring. 



196 



TO CHLOE. 

If repentance has atonement for sin, 
Then well I have paid for neglect ; 

But who can that fabric restore 

That has suffered from ruin and wreck. 

When harvest is wasted and spent, 
And summer is ended and gone, 

Ask the tempest and storms to relent : 
Over winter, and famine, ye may mourn. 

Oh ! had I the wings, and could fly, 
I would not pursue the gay spring, 

To the home of my loved one I'd hie, 
And with her forever would sing. 

How careless the roses we pass, 

In their season of sunshine and bloom. 

And the lily, how heedless, alas ! 

Though inhaling their richest perfume. 
197 



198 To CHLOE. 

But they have their day, and are gone, 
And see not, nor feel not the storm ; 
. But we o'er their memory must mourn, 
Though nature has done them no wrong. 

Yet there's peace to be found in this smart, 
That still over pain has a charm, 

That the dart that's so deep in my heart 
No bosom but mine can do harm. 

There's a bloom in the waste of my heart, 
With tears I will water it long ; 

It cannot, it shall not, depart, 

'Tis the joy and the soul of my song. 

When of my repentance ye learn. 
Ye cannot I know but forgive ; 

A sigh in that bosom may yearn. 

Which hearing, a world I would give. 



THE MAID OF RAIIWAY. 

I si:n^g the Maid of Rahway, 
While suffering from the smart 

Of that sweetly poisoned arrow 
That wounded deep my heart. 

'Tis to the Maid of Rahway 
All other passions yield ; 

My herds neglected roaming, 
Uncultured are my fields. 

If for the Maid of Rahway 
I'm long oppressed with care, 

My business, all distracted, 
Will drive me to despair. 

Why for the Maid of Rahway 

I stroll oppressed with care, 

My bosom ever heaving, 

My mind forever there ? 
199 



200 THE MAID OF RAHWAY. 

'Tis that the Maid of Rahway, 
Should I to her appear, 

A lover sick with passion, 
She would not lend an ear. 

'Tis for the Maid of Rahway 
I'm suffering now with pain; 

And to the Maid of Rahway 
I venture to complain. 

'Tis to the Maid of Rahway 
I give what I possess ; 
. If she will to the plaintiff 
A love for him confess. 



THE MAID OF OLD TOWN. 

Did ever ye rove, 
Through vale of the Clove ? 
There soon ye may gain, 
That fruitful old plain 

That lies back of Clifton. 

Like the sun ever beaming, 
Thei'e love's ever dreaming; 
What a prize ye may gain, 
On the old smiling plain 

That lies back of Clifton. 

Not a bird on the trees. 
Nor a sigh on the breeze ; 
But sweetness may gain. 
On that musical plain 

That lies back of Clifton. 

What a pearl ! what a prize! 

Will dazzle your eyes ; 
201 



202 THE MAID OF OLD TOWN. 

Not a princess, nor crown, 
Can compare with Old Town 
That lies back of Clifton. 

The pride of that plain, 
O'er ray heart may she reign, 
And my love I'll repeat 
Till it ceases to beat. 

May it lie back of Clifton. 



TO SOPHIE. 

I HAVE THOUGHT OF THEE A THOUSAXD TIMES. 

I've thought of thee a thousand times 

Since I beheld thy face ; 
Those sparkling eyes, that polished brow, 

That almost heavenly grace. 

Oh no ; I've thought of thee but once ; 

In one unbroken chain 
Are bound my day-thoughts and my dreams 

In fancy's burning flame. 



203 



TO SOPHIE. 

There is music in that charming dame 

Of all my love the trophy, 
I could not love another lass 

So heavenly is my Sophie. 



204 



THE GIRL I LOVE SO DEARLY. 

It's great delight, 

Of a winter night, 
When the moon is shining clearly, 

In the distant lot 

To view the cot 
Of the girl I love so dearly. 

Where the beacon showed, 

Through the woodland road, 
The cottage standing peerly, 

That friendly light 

Shall guide me right 
To the girl I love so dearly. 

There by the side 

Of my lovely bride 

To spend an evening cheerly, 

And ere we part, 

The tear shall start. 

From the girl who loves me dearly 
205 



BIDDY YOUNG. 

I WENT to church the other night, 
My head was gay, ray heart was light, 
They prayed subhme, and sweetly sung, 
But all was lost through Biddy Young, 

My tongue was mute, my heart was wrung. 

Oh ! I'm unstrung by Biddy Young. 

With heavy heart I went away, 
And thought of her both night and day ; 
My wounded heart was deeply stung 
By the soft eyes of Biddy Young. 

My tongue was mute, my heart was wrung. 

Oh ! I'm unstrung by Biddy Young. 

With pensive brow I shun the field, 

For hope has ceased to count the yield. 

And idly stroll the woods among. 

And think alone of Biddy Young. 

My tongue was mute my heart was wrung. 

Oh ! I'm unstrung by Biddy Young. 
206 



BIDDY YOUNG. 207 

I drag along with feeble feet, 
My pulse has almost ceased to beat, 
My life on its last thread is swung, 
And must I die for Biddy Young ? 

My tongue was mute, my heart was wrung. 

Oh ! I'm unstrung by Biddy Young. 

When this dull life has passed away, 
And night has closed upon my day. 
Still o'er that rest a gloom is hung 
Those dreams I fear of Biddy Young. 

My tongue is mute, my heart is wrung. 

Oh ! I'm undone by Biddy Young. 



TO MISS MARY L. PELTON. 

Oh, Mary, the sun of our joy, 
Why hast thou thus left us forlorn ? 

How could ye our pleasure destroy, 

While the dewdrops yet spangled the morn 

Every face is the stamp of despair. 
All nature seems teeming with pain, 

The trees look so naked and bare, 
That they never can blossom again. 

Like the sun when he slopes down the south. 
What a waste he leaves barren and drear. 

Yet safe he retireth in strength, 

While the winter pours in on his rear. 

If, perchance, you revisit my dreams, 

So transient the joys you display. 
Such a chaos of brightness it seems. 

Like meteors they vanish ere day. 

208 



i 



i 



TO MISS MARY L. P ELTON. 209 

Oh ! that you were but a star, 

Tliat your twinkling might gladden our plain, 
And I, on some heavenly car. 

Like Orion, pursuing in vain. 

But why thus the moments beguile, 
Or mourn for the sunshine and shower; 

To invite you again to our isle, 
Is all that is left in our power. 



MY ISLAND MAID. 

SuEE as brightest gems abound, 
Where the milky way is laid, 

So fairest ones on isles are found, 
But loveliest is my Island maid. 

She'd gild Orion's shoulder bright — 
With meaner gems his sword is laid- 

Or turn the lovers madd'ning flight. 
Would my lovely Island maid. 

Another world she would destroy, 
Nor deem the forfeit dearly paid ; 

Like Helen fire another Troy, 
Would my lovely Island maid. 

But I am over fond 'tis shown, 

And scarce can write another line ; 

This Island maid shall be my own. 

And bloom my lovely valentine. 
210 



THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN. 

Is it Heaven's frown that thus appears, 

Or nature melting into tears? 

But through the fog the hirid morn 

Must darker grow, and more forlorn. 

Hark ! the city's distant bell, 

Sadly echoes through the dell; 

And the cannon's distant roar 

Deep resounds along the shore, 

While storm and darkness yet prevail. 

The insidious foe creeps through the dale, 

And up the steep and rugged height, 

They wait the coming of the light : 

Hark! the beating of the drum. 

To arms ! to arms ! they come, they come ! 

Volley on volley the muskets pour, 

Fearfully the death-shots gore, 

In vain our bravest troops advance 

To fall before the Cossack lance ; 
211 



212 THE BATTLE OF INKERMANN. 

The remnant of our lines retire, 
Before the cannon's deadly fire. 
Mad the rage of battle tore, 
Deep the echoing cannons roar. 
Sharp the click of rifles pour ; 
Dying groans, and smoking gore. 
All combine to wake our fear 
When we think no succor near. 
Now, to save our lessening ranks, 
Comes the lightning of the Franks! 
Courage in their step, we trace ; 
The light of battle in their face ; 
. Now awakes the slackening fight; 
The battle roars from left to right ! 
The fog's dispelled, outbursts the sun; 
The foe has fled, the field is won. 

Ah ! who can view this field of blood ? 
A tyrant's rage, a tyrant's frown, 
A pall should be that tyrant's scarf. 
An urn an emblem of his crown. 



CRITTENDON, THE CUBAN PATRIOT. 

All undeceived, the Patriot stands, 
His thouglits are on Iiis native land — 
His lieart with freedom's pulse beats high, 
But mourns its wretched destiny. 

He thinks of his distant friends and home, 
The land where his fathers fought and bled ; 
But his fatliers for battle did not roam, 
Polluting the land with hostile tread. 

Oh ! had he but in battle died, 
On the bloody field his valor tried. 
Supinely stretched 'mid the shouting host, 
Smiling to heaven, have yielded up the ghost. 

But think not the soldier's spirit is lost, 

Though the demons of mischief have made him their 

prey, 

In heaven 'tis reckoned what their avarice cost. 

For the blood of the patriot tliey dearly shall pay. 
213 



214 CRITTENBON, THE CUBAN PATRIOT. 

As the Roman expired so his spirit shall fly, 

Nor sickens the soul that shall never die, 

But the hero's death shall honor his grave — 

That grave that was meant to dishonor the brave. 

* At the rising of the people of Cuba in the summer of 
1851, Gen. Lopez and Col. Crittendon, of Kentucky, at the 
yiead of 450 men hastened from New Orleans by the steamer 
Pampero, landing Aug. 12th at a point called Playitas, 
some 30 miles west of Havana. Gen. Lopez then detailed 
150 picked men under command of Col. Crittendon to 
bring up the expeditionary baggage, and marched with 
the main body inland. Soon both commands were en- 
gaged by heavy odds ; Crittendon manfully confronted 
the enemy, only to find his command cut down to 50 men 
without arms and ammunition. These were taken pris- 
oners to Havana, where all of them were shot. 



AN ELEGY OK" MY OLD CAT "PINK." 

Born March 30th, ISSG ; died December 25th, 1849^ 

This Christmas night has taken flight 
The noblest of her kind, 
" In grief I write what I indite, 
So kindred seemed her mind. 

Perhaps it will some body fill 

With intellect refined ; 
If souls advance, short be thy trance, 

Perfection of thy kind. 



215 



AWAY, MY MUSE. 

Away, my muse, I bid thee flee, 
Nor tempt me to the strife so vain ; 

The world but envies when it sees 
The laurels that we strive to gain. 

I'll meet thee in some lone alcove, 
Or at the winding woodland haunt, 

Or at the gentle sighing grove 
To Ora's self thy praise I'll chant. 



'216 



THE SPRING RAIN. 

Let's rejoice amid the spring rain, 
For with it comes tlie flowers — 

While autumn's dark and sullen storms 
Bring naught but gloomy hours. 



217 



NOW I HAVE LEARNED IN LOVE TO 
APPEAR. 

Now I have learned in love to appear, 
Just as the world shows love for me ; 

And mark them with contemptuous sneer 
That practices coquetry. 



218 



ANSWER TO A LADY THAT WANTED AN 
INTRODUCTION. 

Fair stranger, be this truth transferred upon thy 

heart ; 
Who meet not, love not, weep not, nor have the pain 

to part, 



219 



DID YOU EVER MARRY YET. 

Did you ever marry yet, 
And Iieiir a scolding woman fret? 
With the broomstick bang the cats, 
And box about the dirty brats ? 

Did you ever marry yet. 
And hear the doctor dun for debt ? 
The butclier swear he would not wait, 
And baker run to shun the gate? 

Did you ever marry yet, 

Or with the notion ever fret ? 

You'd better hang till you are dead, 

Than let the thought come in your head. 



220 



FULL MANY A LASS I'VE LOVED. 

Full many a lass Fve loved, 

And many a girl has made me glad ; 

Yet never once a heart has moved — 
'Tis such a fate that makes me sad. 

Yet will I love, and love again, 

Through all my life though short or long, 
And to my muse I'll still complain. 

And own my passion in my song. 



221 



I NEED NOT TELL MY SOPHIE 
THAT I LOVE. 

No. 1. 
I NEED not tune the vocal lyre 

To tell my Sophie that I love — 
Nor need I play the flatterer's part 

And call her more than gentle dove. 
Enough to say that I am thine, 

And thou shalt be my Valentine. 



222 



TO SOPHIE. 

No. 2. 
The south wind is blowing, 

And spring is returning, 
And tlie soft notes of love 

In each bosom is burning. 
'Tis the heaven awakens 

This influence divine — 
With joy I'll obey, 

Here's to you, Valentine. 



223 



TO SOPHIE. 

No. 3. 
Long as I liea,r the feathered tribes, 

With notes of joy tlie woodland rings — 
So long, dear girl, shall be my pride 

Thy beauties and thy charms to sing. 

Long as I love the budding trees, 
Or view with joy the blushing rose, 

So long thy grace and charms shall please, 
And eyes that with fond rapture glows. 

Long as I feel the sacred fire. 

That wakes the soul to thoughts sublime, 
So long ril tune the vocal lyre 

To praises of my Valentine. 



224 



TO MARY. 

No. 4. 
So stands the elm in pride of strength, 

And bears the clingmg fruitful vine, 
Whose arms had been of useless length 

Without its cheering Valentine. 



15 225 



TO ISABEL. 

No. 5. 
Tell me! tell me! Isabel, 
If love like mine does in thee dwell — 
Or if 'tis vain to love thee, tell. 
Or own it if reciprocal : 
Believe me, girl, that love like mine, 
Was seldom sent by Valentine. 



226 



BLEST BE THY CHOICE. 

None like the poet knows to love, 
The poet's flame is from above ; 
Blest be thy choice to own me thine, 
And doubly blest thy Valentine. 



227- 



PIECES FOR AN ALBUM. 

No. 1. 
My album is my heart's recorder 

To murk the various passions of each friend, 
Sad, or delighted, here I may prefer 

A chosen few to succor or attend. 

No. 2. 
We, of ourselves, are but a point to start ; 
Each social friend is an integral part, 
With Christ, the friend and Saviour of the soul, 
And God, the great Creator, forms the whole : 
Faith, love, and friendship then thy throne up- 
rear, 
And heavenly truths on every page appear. 

No. 3. 
Wealth and honor, youth and beauty, 

In rivalry assembled here — 
What is then the minstrel's duty ? 

Only here to shed a tear. 

228 



PIECES FOR AN ALBUM. 229 

Though each of these may be true-hearted, 
Yet all conspire to crush the flame ; 

And when the luring gem's departed, 
It only leaves its empty name. 

No. 4. 

Long may this verse your vision bless, 

And seem the work of yesterday, 
When this hand shall withering blight confess. 

Or moulder in its parent clay. 

No. 5. 

Pardon me, dear friend, if 1 presume 
To place so dull a flower amid this bloom ; 
The brightest petals, when they pass away. 
Leave no fair fruit to cheer a future day. 

No. 6. 

In flattering verse to jingle Charlotte's name 
On this fair page may be a poet's part ; 

But mine shall be to write indelibly 
The name of friendship on its owner's heart. 



230 PIECES FOR AN ALBUM. 

No. 7. 
When wasting time has swept this hand away, 

Should this remain here learn its faithful heart, 
Where truth and honor held their quiet reign, 

And smooth-tongued flattery never claimed a part. 

No. 8. 
Dear Lady, though you bid me write, 
I scarcely know what to indite — 
For should I tell you that I love, 
It only would to laughter move ; 
If I to flattery tune a string. 
The muses will refuse to sing. 
I'll hang my harp upon the trees, 
And trust the grandeur of the breeze, 
And call the gentle zephyrs nigh, 
And only answer sigh for sigh. 

No. 9. 
Like Eden this may bloom so fair, 

That ev'ry one their taste may suit. 
Nor need they fear the serpent's snare, 

For here is no forbidden fruit. 



THE POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



DANIEL PELTON 



TOGETHER WITH 



DISCOURSE AND LECTURES 



Before the Athcncruin Society in the early Forties 



VOL. II. 



NEW YORK 

W. L. ALLISON CO. 

Publishers 



~G2270 

Copyright, 1896, and 1899, 

BY 

DANIEL PELTON. 



PREFACE TO VOLUME SECOND. 



Again I offer to the public another volume of my Poetical 
Works ; the flattering accounts that I have received of 
my first book is all the apology I shall present. I court no 
special favor from that inestimable and invaluable class of 
fellow citizens known as critics, who so kindly handled the 
first publications of such writers as Byron, Moore and Mrs. 
Hemans nee Browne, and many others. Let the readers 
please themselves, and if they do not like it I shall be sorry 
but not angry. 

Yours sincerely, 

DANIEL PELTON. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Beautiful lines by Mrs. Ella Benedict Burkman on the 

Author's Eighty-first Birthday 1 

Author's lines in reply to Mrs. Ella Benedict Burkman, 3 
Lines from Mrs. Sophi(^ J. Franklin Pelton to the 
Author, suggested on the Franklin Street L. Road 

Station 3 

Lines written by Mrs. Sophie J. Franklin Pelton on 
the death of her splendid hound, " Beauty," May 

13th, 1896 5 

To Thomas Moore 6 

My First Courtship 7 

The Atlantic 10 

I'm Sick of Love 18 

On the Death of Miss Mary L. Flake U 

Heaven 15 

The Melancholy Hours of Life 17 

Let no Rude One 17 

Reflections on the Past 17 

Friendship 18 

Written in the Trinity Churchyard, when they were 

Rebuilding the Church about 1843 19 

Be Ready 20 

Old Melancholy, art Thou Come Again ? 21 

Melancholy 22 

A Vision 22 

To Mary Ann (My Sister) 23 

iii 



iv CON Ti: NTS. 

PAGE 

Reflections on tlie Future 24 

On Doubting to Invite a Poor Man Whilst I was Sick. 24 

Blest is the Man 25 

On Seeing a Store Shut by the Sheriff 25 

Ovid's Lament 26 

Written during the Mexican War 27 

A Visit to my Native Spot 27 

Once Like the Light it Shone 38 

Nor Downy Sleep 29 

Despondency 29 

The Same 31 

'Mid Pensive Thought 32 

Mary's Cruelty 34 

She Never Will be Mine 34 

I am Not Loved 35 

For an Album 36 

To Sophia 37 

She Nevet Yet Was Mine 37 

Let Mary Love whom Mary Will . . . . 38 

Till Woman Shows More Love for Me , 38 

Thus Ends every Pleasure in Gloom 39 

I Feel Life's Ebbing Joys Depart 40 

Written when Going to California 41 

On Hearing the Wind Moan through a Dry Stalk 43 

What ! Do I Hate Her ? 43 

Sadness 44 

Mary's Tear 45 

I Still in Sadness to my Heart Return 45 

When I am Dead and Gone 46 

The Last Tree of the Orchard 46 

Judge Not from What you See 47 

Give me that Peace of Mind 49 

To Jennie : 49 

Oh Mary ! Loveliest Shade 49 



CONTENTS. V 

PAGE 

The Dying Calif ornian 50 

The Chrysanthemum 52 

Oil, Life ! thou Dull Incumbent Load 53 

Ye Grassy Banks and Meadows Green 54 

Well Sits the Dewdrop on the Rose 54 

Oh ! Bury Me among the Trees I Love 55 

Written while Sitting over my Mother's Grave the 

Evening of her Burial 55 

Ah ! Cruel Fate 56 

I have no Tears to Slied 58 

How could j'ou Venture fortli, my Love ? 59 

And I must ever Pine 59 

On Cutting down the Noble Old Cherry Trees 60 

Meeting of Two Homesick Gold Diggers 61 

Prayer 03 

California Emigrant's Prayer 63 

From the Dead to the Living 64 

Since Mary Longed to Leave this Earth 65 

O'er Mary's Grave 66 

My Jenny : 66 

Not Always Now 67 

Ah ! Melancholy Soft-Eyed Maid 67 

Retirement 67 

Charming Nature 08 

A Tale of my Grandsire 69 

A True Story 81 

Fair Virginia 85 

Sent to Baron Duffie. on the Birth of his First Son. 

Answer to a Telegram 89 

On the Death of Miss Fannj- Leggett 89 

The Vision 90 

On Henry Fountain, died 1840 91 

On the Death of John Totten 92 

To the Widowed Mother 93 



vi CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Is Life too Short ? 93 

On the Death of the Daughters of Capt. John Barker. 93 

On Sitting up with Jacob Bodine 95 

Hymn Written on Hearing a Missionary Sermon 

Preached by Rev. Dr. James Brownlee, D.D 98 

42d Psahn, Versified 99 

133d Psahn 99 

Pe, Versified 100 

134th Psalm, Versified 101 

The Song of Moses, a Canticle, Versified, Ex. xv 101 

29th Psalm, Versified 104 

An Elegy on a Poor Man 104 

The Dream 105 

An Invitation 108 

A Valentine, February 14th, 1849 109 

To Miss Irene 110 

The Dying Drunkard 110 

A Temperance Hymn Ill 

The Brave are not Forgotten Ill 

Oh, Bury Me 'mid the Trees I Love 112 

Written on the Result of the Election, 1845 112 

Written at a Wedding 115 

The Rescue. 115 

Written on Hearing the Result of Mercer's Trial 117 

Lozenges and Paste 118 

Written for a Friend to Answer a Doggerel Slur 118 

A Letter Carried by a Client 120 

The Spider Fight 120 

Oh ! Absalom 121 

The Rustic Poet 122 

Our Revolutionary Grandsires 128 

On Seeing the Great Western coming up the Lower 
Bay on her First Trip to this Country (the First 

Steamer) . . , 123 



CONTENTS. vii 

PAGE 

A Pastoral 124 

The Tree of Liberty 125 

An Elegy on a Troublesome Pet 126 

Love should be Reciijrocal 126 

Henry Clay, 1848 127 

Silence, written at a Party 128 

Our Beautiful Hounds 129 

To Lord Byron 130 

To Flavius Josephus 130 

To Tupper 130 

To Thomson 131 

To Scott 131 

On Seeing a Rosebud that was broken down by a Hail- 
storm 131 

The Grape Vine 132 

The Violet 132 

Sweet is the Banquet of tlie Mind 133 

An Ode 134 

Amex'icans to Anns 135 

The Alien of Erin 137 

The Pole's Dream 138 

Be Frugal, ye Poles 140 

The Hottest Sun 140 

Well-Tempered Steel 141 

The Warning 141 

To Liberty 142 

Rise, Patriots, Rise 143 

To Irishmen 145 

The Squall 145 

Alas ! for Poor Poland 147 

Written whilst sitting up with a Sick Friend, John 

Jones 149 

On the Death of General W. H. Harrison, 1841 150 

Written whilst sitting up with a Dead Friend. ..,,,,. 151 



Viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Did ever Lofty Thought Arise ? 152 

To the Memory of Charles Adams 152 

Daniel Pelton, born January 17th, 1818 153 

To the Memory of Henry Kirke Wliite 153 

Henry Kirke Wliite 154 

On the Death of General Lopez, 1851 154 

The Poor Bard 155 

The Squall 155 

On the Death of John Shaughnessy 156 

Abd-ul-Aziz, the Governor, or Mis-i'uler, of Bosnia and 

Hei'zegovina, from 18G1 to 1876 156 

Garibaldi 157 

Welcome, Kossuth 1 58 

To Robert B. Minturn 159 

An Otle. Imitation of Anacreon 161 

I Wadna Leave my Bonnie Hanie 161 

To Matilda 162 

How can I Bear this Smouldering Fire -. 163 

Nevr Year's Day 163 

An Acrostic, to Mary II 164 

To a Blind Girl. 164 

I have Loved a Thousand Doves 165 

To Miss Anna H 165 

To Catharine 167 

I Dreamed I had a Dream 167 

To Miss A 168 

Love 169 

On Presenting a Lady with a Jeweled Heart 170 

To Spring 171 

I'd Take Ye from that Clay-Cold Place 172 

The Flora 172 

Collins Graves' Ride 173 

Nature Asleep 175 

The Clove near Silver Lake • • 176 



CONTENTS. ix 

PAGE 

To a Blind Young Lady 177 

On a Lady Tearing her Dress whilst getting out of a 

Carriage 178 

Pride 179 

Song, The Old Maid's Conquests 180 

Who would not be a Rose-bug ? 181 

How he got a Seat — an Old Story 182 

Pride, with a Moral 183 

On a Priest Watching the Girls Bathing 185 

Cauglit in a Storm 186 

The First Merchant Tailor 187 

Pat's Complaint, Sunday Morning 187 

A Tliousand a Year 188 

Said an Angel to Jove 189 

Cain and Abel 189 

A Chilly Fragment 193 

Poor Jim Crow 193 

An Elegy on our Old Cat, Jim 194 

The Frolic, In the Old Fountain House 195 

A Walk on the New Road 197 

Little Dill-Dally, the Pest of the Land 199 

The Leeches, on having them applied 200 

The Pomegranate 201 

The Picnic 203 

Valentine to Peck , 203 

There is Something in a Name 204 

Grace before Graham Bread 205 

The Captive Eagle, 1834 205 

The Irish Boy has Returned from the War. The 

Mexican W^ar, 1847. Song 206 

The Fire- Worshipper's Prayer 207 

Not Always Melancholy 208 

On the Coming of Jenny Lind in 1850, supposed to be 

written by herself , , • . r • • • 208 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A Kiss a Day 209 

Like Ocean Waves 209 

To Sophie 210 

Equal Blessings are from Heaven 210 

My Cup Distil with Peaceful Hours 210 

A Fragment from the Burnt Lexington 211 

May, 1838 211 

Dark Winter Slowly Rolled Away 212 

God's Creatures 212 

This Morning Rose as Bright a Sun 214 

The Banks of Kill Von Kull 214 

Written on the Approach of a Thunder-Shower, after 

severe Drought 215 

An Orphan in a Foreign Land 217 

Written on a Cast-Off 217 

To Miss Ursula Niess 218 

The Eye is the Index of the Soul 218 

Build Tliine Own House 219 

On taking a Horse 219 

On Seeing a Cow's Carcass 220 

Who Would not Love a Gentle Maid ? 221 

To my Darling 221 

On Meeting a Friend 221 

The Pirate 222 

Tom Clark's Trip. 222 

Advice to Youth. . '. 222 

Seek not for Me 223 

The Wee Bunch of Hair 223 

The Lazy Man 224 

To Mr, What-you-call-him's Daughter 225 

To Susan 226 

Auld Aunty V 227 

On Seeing a Sign over the Store-door 228 

A Parody on Tippecanoe and Tyler, too 229 



CONTENTS. xi 

PAGE 

Written on the First Election News 230 

A Jolly Deacon 231 

Yankee Doodle, a Deacon and Clown 232 

The Darkies' Jubilee 234 

Election Song, Coon 234 

JUVENILE SCRAPS. 

The Old Toper 236 

The Slave to Intemperance 236 

Old Buster. 237 

To Mrs. Simon Peter 237 

On Burying a Dead Horse 238 

Pope, Hold thy Peace ^ 238 

On Seeing a Young Lady's Dirty Neck 238 

The Prophecy 239 

To Jane : Why Wish Thee ? 239 

I Would not be a Slave 239 

Yankee Doodle Dewey 240 

The Patriot's Call 241 

Uraldo and Duna-rina 242 

Derick and Hendrick 244 

On the Pencil Cuts of my Grandparents 247 

Can I Wound Another Breast ? 248 

Take me, Lady 248 

To my Old Mare 248 

A Discourse on Instinct and Reason 249 

My Leaden Soldiers 263 

Home 263 

Garibaldi 264 

The Vision 265 

Debate on Secret Societies 268 

Debate : Ought the Right of Suffrage be Extended to 
the Black Population. Part I 276 



2 TO MRS. ELLA BENEDICT BURKMAN. 

We greet thee, noble bard of eighty-one ! 

Blest be the remnant of thy days ! 
And when the heavenly messenger shall come 

To guide thee to thy Home, the King to praise, 

May holy peace attend thine upward way ! 

But yet the wish sincere we bring to thee 
Is that we all may live to see the day 

When thou shall count thy years a century ! 
Ella Benedict Bukkman. 
Ravenhurst, January, 17, 1899. 



TO MES. ELLA BENEDICT BURKMAK. 

An Answer to Lines Written to me on my Eighty-first Birth- 
day. Entitled " The Bard of Eighty-one." 

Sweet songster o'er j^our welcome gift — 

For naught more welcome comes than song — 

The soul inspired in raptures lift. 
Enchantment rolls the verse along. 

I seize the lyre, the tuneful strings 
From sympathy its power attains ; 

The echoing notes repeating sing 
The music of thy heavenly strains. 



FHOM MRS. SOPHIE J. FRANKLIN FELTON. 3 

For seldom I break forth aloud, 

Half coy, half fear, my notes restrain, 

Lest I the spheres with discord crowd, 
And discord fills my soul with pain. 

Like winter birds in gentle song 
I warble forth my plaintiv^e lays ; 

Or in silent raptures urged along. 

Transported with bewildering maze. 

Thus let me thank thee for the lays 
That's filled my soul with sacred fire, 

And strengthens my declining days. 

With animated life's desire. 

Daniel Pelton. 
January 17, 1899. 



LINES FEOM MES. SOPHIE J. FRAKKLm 
PELTON TO HER HUSBAND. 

Suggested on the Franklin Street L,-Boad Station. 

To my darling Hubby most dear 
These Franklin lines may seem queer ; 
But in the name there's some fatality, 
As he was born in this locality ; 
And on the birthday 
Of the great far away, 



APPENDIX BY SAID HUBBY, 

"Who bottled electricity, 

To his great felicity. 

And he married one — a calamity ! 

But still we will hope for sweet charity. 

For he loves her, and thinks her a rarity. 



APPENDIX BY SAID HUBBY. 

Now he has found her a reality, 
In her great frugality 
And her bearing in majesty. 
With her Christian sanctity. 
With acknowledged ability 
And her royal stability, 
And her marvelous agility 
All this with civility. 

Mks. Pelton Adds : 

All this and more, with ample store, 
With avoirdupois gain of thirty-five pounds or 
more. 

January 15, 1895. 



BT MBS. SOPHIE J. FRANKLIN PELTON. 



LINES WEITTEK BY MKS. SOPHIE J. 
FRANKLIN PELTON ON THE DEATH OF 
HEE SPLENDID HOUND, " BEAUTY." 

My beautiful Hound has left me. 

I hope for a happier realm ; 
For faith sincere and trusty, 

She never left the helm. 

That sad, sad hour of parting, 

I never, never can forget ; 
For still I see her struggling. 

And hear her breathing yet. 

'^o more life's pulse is beating, 

Its evening came at last ; 
But Oh ! our joys how fleeting. 

What happy hours have past. 

Now they have fled and gone. 
And I'm pining for my pet ; 

The weary hours are long. 
And still I must regret. 

But still I have a friend. 
That friend to man was given ; 

When joy on earth is gone, 
There still is hope in heaven. 
May 13. 1896. 



TO THOMAS MOORE. 



TO THOMAS MOOEE. 

Spirits of the Mighty dead ! 

That chance to roam this cis- Atlantic shore ; 
Who stamp the air with soft ^ohan tread, 

Attend the praises of the immortal Moore ! 

Though not for thee I tune the vocal lyre, 
'Tis for my Sophie, if she'll deign to read. 

Enough of bland ! I feel my rising fire, 

I've tun'd my chords, and now I may proceed. 

Erin's bard, I love thy song. 

Of softest notes, and sweetest tale ; 

The muses have inspir'd thy tongue, 
Sweet singing Bard of Innisfail. 

Full often has thy Lalla Kookh 

Cheer'd my melancholy hours ; 
Eull well I love that charming book, 

That sings of love in eastern bowers. 

And old Anacreon lives again, 

As musical as when of yore ; 
To sing whose praises it were vain, 

That often have been sung before. 



MY FIRST COURTSHIP. 

Like old Apollo's primal lyre, 
Whose music still dwells in the shell; 

Thus Erin's bard in living fire, 
On Erin's harp shall ever dwell. 

Whilst Cupid round the heart does play, 
Love raptur'd Bards shall sound thy name ; 

Nor aught that jealous man can say, 
Shall ever mar that well-earn'd fame. 

While Erin boasts a fruitful isle, 

Or Erin can an exile send, 
So long that exile with a smile 

Thy melodies to heaven shall wend. 



MY FIEST COUKTSHIP. 

In some enterprises the first onset proves the 
fortune of the undertaking, and so superstitiously 
are we affected by that fact that often without 
further trial we abandon our schemes as lost. Such 
was the fact with my first courtship. Whether I 
was really in love, or instinctively urged to a 
sense of natural duty, or how I made the eng-aire- 
ment, or whether it was made with me, I cannot 
now say ; but circumstances connected with tlie 
facts are more vivid in my mind than matters of 



8 MY FIRST COURTSHIP. 

yesterday. I had dressed myself with uncommon 
care, as I thought, although, as the facts after- 
wards came out, I had worn a condemned shirt, 
put my collar on inside out, and my boots were 
odd ones. 1 was endeavoring to get away from 
home with as little fuss as possible, and slipped off 
to the barn alone to harness my horses, and ran out 
the carriage to hitch them to ; but when I began 
to buckle them fast, it appeared by the harness 
that the horses must be placed wrong. I set about 
to correct the mistake, and when I had made all 
fast, and was about to start, a rough fellow in my 
employ, whom we called Judge, with the most un- 
hallowed voice cried out that I had the larboard 
horse on the starboard side, and with a sarcastic 
grin reckoned I must be a-sparking ; equally per- 
plexed and mortified I made no reply, but asked 
him to come and help put them right. He no 
sooner came up than his tantalizing look showed 
he had made another discovery, and, as he ex- 
pressed it, I had put the right harness on the 
wrong horse, and thus a second mistake had 
grown out of the first, for, instead of shifting the 
horses I should have shifted the harness. He set to 
work to place things right, and, as I was of little 
or no service to him, he told me to stand out of 
the way, as I must be excited, when I placed my- 
self in front of the horses rather near a hog-pen, 



MY FIRST COURTSHIP. 9 

when a forward, unmannerly pig, supposing the 
tail of my coat, like his own useless appendage, 
was made more for ornament than use, took the 
liberty of severing it from its body. And now 
the Judge's mirth was at its height, and my 
misery at its depth. It was the second time I had 
worn the coat. I did not know which was the 
greatest evil, losing the new coat or having to 
wear the old one, but there was no choosing, I 
must bear them both. By the time I could make 
the change the horses were ready, and I drove off 
in a hurry. It was after my time when I reached 
the house, and to all appearance she had been as 
much ahead of it. The young lady met me at 
the gate of her house almost as soon as I stopped, 
which I considered good luck. She saluted me by 
saying, " I was afraid something had happened," 
which I answered with a grin, that I might not 
commit myself. In my previous plans I had de- 
termined not to overdo the matter with politeness, 
so, without moving, I took her by the hand and 
hauled her in. She had a good deal to say and 
looked me in the face very often. Don't think I 
was very loquacious ; did not mind trifles, ran over 
rocks and stones, bent my carriage top in a load of 
hay, and sundry other mishaps ; got back without 
great loss or damage, left the girl where I found 
her, don't recollect whether she asked me in, or to 



10 THE ATLANTIC. 

come again, as I bad my mind made up, I need not 
now say how. The next time I used the carriage 
I found a small mitten in it with the thumb pretty 
well sucked off ; and I have never found out 
how it got there. This was an angry sore, but no 
one ever chaffed me with it, unless by accident. 
My tailor, when he saw my coat, reckoned 
I had been keeping company with hogs, and a 
lady of my acquaintance sometime afterwards 
asked me if I had not a habit of sucking my 
thumb. ISTow I do not know that the story ever 
got about, but for a long time it appeared to me 
as if everybody knew it, and was all the time 
thinking about it. 

THE ATLANTIC. 

A sailor's tale. 

Come, ladies and landsmen, whom fortune defends, 
I'll tell you of the mis'ry that sailors attends ; 
Of the good ship Atlantic on the deep sea long 

tost. 
And a port safely reached, Avhen hope owned her 

lost. 
On the fourth day of Christmas from Liverpool 

we sail, 
"With wind from west-southwest, blowing a gale ; 



THE ATLANTIC. 11 

The next day passing Cape Clear, with pilot on 

board 
We could not release him, so the rough billows 

roared, 
Kine days of good cheer, and liard labor, we 

weatherVl the gale, 
When her shaft burst asunder, and forced us to 

sail. 
By the help of storm canvas our ship was hove to, 
All night and next day work'd our long weary 

crew. 
Three days we lay to, for it still blew a gale. 
O'er the ice-cover'd deck, and the stiff rattling 

sail. 
Then the wind chang'd to northwest, and less 

violent did blow, 
When the word was to Halifax ! To Halifax hi ! 

ho! 
But the observation next day drove all our cheer 

away, 
We had been driven from our course two hundred 

miles astray ; 
'Twas vain to head the wind, for a noble steamer's 

sail 
Is the sport of the wind, and the prey of the gale. 
Now the old gale to southwest has struck in 

anew, 
And our ship, always losing, once more is hove to • 



12 THE ATLANTIC. 

When a large ship drove by us, and our flag for 

help did fly : 
Oh ! she never was a Yankee, or she'd never been 

so shy. 
A council was held, and it was agreed all 'round 
That for old Europe's coast, the vessel should be 

bound. 
For account of our stores, proved provisions get- 
ting shorter. 
And all were on allowance, put on precious bread 

and water. 
And now ten days we are flying before the driving 

gale. 
When the joyful news of land, and the port of 

Cork we hail, 
We anchor in the harbor, to forsake the hand 

that blessed. 
And revelling in our fortune, forget our wanted 

rest. 
Nor cruel were those wild winds, though oft they 

rent our sail, 
But lent us for a herald a kind and favoring 

gale, 
That bore our prayers above the storms, that 

were so freely given 
To the Father of sailors, in the Mansions of 

Heaven. 



FM SJCK OF LOVE. 13 



I'M SICK OF LOVE. 

I GRIEVE that I have loved so much, 
I grieve my temper it is such 
That I have often loved in vain, 
And sought for love I ne'er could gain. 
For I have lov'd full many a maid, 
And have not had that love repaid ; 
I hope I ne'er shall love again, 
To me love's profit is its pain. 
This is a truth. I tell with shame 
A truth that does my bosom pain : 
Full many a maid has shown me love, 
While from their glances I did rove. 
Oft have I met a courteous glance. 
And, tempted by it to advance. 
In the next meeting did appear 
That love had settled to a sneer. 
They say that love is from the sky. 
That love with mortals cannot die ; 
If earth's frail love e'er reached the sky. 
Then heaven with love took many a lie. 
Love is but an earth-born flame, 
Low in birth, but high in fame, 
Its meteor lights are fair to see ; 
But meteor like, they shine and fiee. 



14 Oy THE DEATH OF MISS MARY L. FLAKE. 

They paint love as the rainbow bright, 
And as it shines it's all delight. 
They tell us gentle love will rove ; 
But who can catcli the bow or dove ? 
Let friendship be our only guide, 
Swift glides our bark before the tide, 
The willing helmsman, and tlie wind 
Fast leaves the sinking shores behind. 
When folly bids us court the adverse wind, 
Our useless sails but drives our bark behind : 
When wrecked at length upon a leeward shore. 
The boisterous winds tempestuous o'er us roar. 



ON THE DEATH OF MISS MAKY L. FLAKE. 

Died Nov. Uth, 1897. 

And is the sufferer gone ? A solemn gloom ! 
To think the sufferer lies beneath the tomb. 

Ah, no ! far, far away the s])irit flies ; 
The immortal soul we trust is in the skies. 
No more to suffer, no more to agonize. 

Long borne the cross, long suffered earthly pain, 
Releas'd by death, she seeks the promised gain ; 
With angel guide, in angel's bright aiTay, 
§he meets her sister angels on the way. 



HEAVEN. 15 

Witli one kind tliou<^Iit still lini^cring- in her mind, 
or mourning friends that linger still behind ; 
But free from death, and free from earth's alarms, 
She presses on to reach her Saviour's arms. 

Nov. 17th, 1S97. 



HEAVEN. 

TnAT i)lace of rest from wear}' time, 

That lifts our minds to thoughts sublime; 

How restful to the longing soul, 

That thinks the grave is not tin; goal. 

Yes, time to all eternity, 

Will grant there is a Deity ; 

Atheist, Deist, and Infidel 

"Will grant there is a ]>otent spell 

That tells them God is nigh, 

AYlien they look into the starry sky. 

And let the fool alone to sigh, 

Alas ! Alas, no God is nigh ! 

What innate power directs our will, 

Aye, yes that power is with us still. 

In spite of all our outward show. 

To his great power we all must bow^ 

Great God, to you I humbly pray, 

That I in belief may never stray : 



16 HEA VEN. 

But be my constant guide and stafif, 
To rest within your arms at last ; 
Direct, protect, and help me live, 
Abide thy w\\\, and all forgive. 

Sophie Josephine Feanklin. 

Shrove Tuesday, February 10, IS'Jl. 



HOURS OF MELANCHOLY, 



THE MELANCHOLY HOURS OF LIFE. 

The melancholy hours of life, 

That oft obscure the prime of youth, 

If armed by faith roll back the strife, 
Till all's dissolved in hope and truth. 



LET NO RUDE OXE. 

Lkt no rude one, witli impious hand. 
With doggerel verse these pages brand, 
Let no mean subject here appear, 
Friendship and holy love are here. 



REFLECTIONS ON THE PAST. 

I oxcE was gallant, once was gay, 
But now, alas ! 'tis passed away ; 
I once enjoyed life's witching smile. 
It could my vouthful hours beguile. 

17 



Ig FRIENDSHIP. 

I dream of hours that have passed away, 
To me in dreams they still seem gay ; 
But when I wake again it seems 
That joy and friendship both are dreams. 

By yonder brook there stands a tree, 
Where nought but l)lossonis you may see. 
But the gay bush does not display 
The roses that have passed away. 

Thus might we view the human race, 
And not a mark of time would trace, 
Should we but seek the fairest flower 
And only view it for an hour. 



FEIENDSIIIP. 

Who cares for friends when fortune smiles. 
And every scene the time beguiles, 
When every change new joys dis})lay. 
And only change to look more gay. 

Give me the friends that misery tends, 
Where virtue pines their succor lends, 
I'd deem such friend, to me when given, 
A ffuardian angel sent from Heaven. 



WRITTEN IN THE TRINITY CHURCn-TARD. 19 

Give me the friend that succor gives, 
And seeks for misery where it lives ; 
I rate such friend, to me when given, 
The richest blessing sent from Heaven. 



WRITTEN IK THE TRIXITY CHURCH- 
YARD WHEX THEY WERE REBUILD- 
ING THE CHURCH, ABOUT 1843. 

Behold the busy crowds of living clay, 
Regardless pass what moulders here away ; 
Thus the tall corn rears high its lusty head. 
And careless waves o'er former crops that's dead ; 
Its nodding plumes amid soft zephyrs play 
Nor felt the frost that soon shall sweep away. 
But pause and view (and our life's blood shall 

chill. 
And every vein shall feel the aching thrill). 
Where moss-bound tombstones scarce their tops 

display, 
And ruin heaped where mortal frames deca3^ 
The rough canaille, that moves these heaps away, 
Shall disregard the sacred mouldering clay. 
Soft pity touched, the secret tear shall shed, 
And inly mourn the ruin here that's spread ; 
Amid their tombs with solemn pace she'll tread, — 
Alike the honored and dishonored dead ; 



20 BE READY. 

There marble history alone of death can tell 
Bruised and defaced till it's not legible. 
But from these thoughts to distant times I fly 
When no soft pity'll mark the ruder eye, 
When the tall fane upon the ground shall lay 
In ruined heaps that time shall scarce decay, 
And far around the scattered ruin spread 
Alike neglected, the temple and the dead. 
When thoughtless shepherd here shall careless 

tread. 
O'er ruined heaps and tomb-encumbered dead ; 
Not the same language shall their minds employ, 
For indolence does labored tongues destroy, 
Then hushed the din of noisy city's cry. 
And the lone screech-owl hoot a mournful sig-h : 
But cease, my thoughts, cease thy lament to pour. 
E'en time itself, in time shall be no more. 



BE EEADY. 

To-day we are filled with lusty life 
To-morrow we may cease the strife. 



OLD MELANCHOLY, ART THOU COME AGAIN 1 21 



OLD MELANCHOLY, AET THOU COME 
AGAIN ? 

Old Melancholy, art thou come again, 
To cast thy gloom upon my aching brain, 
Of thou, cursed demon, must I be possessed, 
To fire my brain, and load my laboring breast? 

Old Melancholy, art thou come again 
To hold o'er me thy cursed unwelcome reign? 
Thou worst of tyrants, iron is tliy sway ; 
I hate thee, demon ; but can't drive away. 

Old Melancholy, art thou come again ? 
Think thou to hold o'er me eternal reign? 
The time will come when death shall set me free, 
Dark as he is, I love him more than thee. 

But who can tell what lies within the grave ! 
Colleagued with death his reign he yet may save ; 
Yet will I hope, for hope can ease our pain, 
To find beyond that bourne a happier reign. 

As ocean waves we pass away, 
And still there are enough that stay. 
Whilst I am alive my pain they'll never see. 
When I am dead, they'll learn to pity me. 



22 A VISION. 



MELANCHOLY. 

What is this pain my bosom yields, 

This strong desire to be alone? 
Though wandering through fertile fields, 

My bosom feels the torrid zone. 

Not like the little sportive bird, 
Or noble beast that joins the herd, 

But like the melanchol}'' dove 

Whose notes are heard in some lone grove. 



A VISION. 

What smouldering thoughts torment my burning 

brain, 
What fans it now, and urges to a flame ; 
Utopian forms in distant dimness rise, 
Near and mere near the doubtful phantom flies. 
Is this a spirit of the distant dead, 
Who late its tenement of earth has fled ? 



TO MARY ANN. 23 

If it be so, ah ! 'tis some one I fear, 

Who seeks the friend in life he held most dear. 

Why round my brain these mystic dreams do 

pour, 
I am not skilled in visionary lore ; 
But should again these painful thoughts be 

known 
And proved in truth what fancy here has shown ; 
If my sick friend is stretched upon his bier. 
Then I'll believe his s})irit has been near, 
That round the living still the dead attends 
Or, ere they leave, pay visit to their friends. 
If it be so, oh ! ever be thou near, 
I love the phantom that I first did fear. 
Oh ! guide my path and ever on me tend. 
My youth's companion and my much-loved 

friend. 



TO MAKY ANN. 

My sister, when my spirit is flown 
Through ethers strange and trackless paths un- 
known. 
Seek not these pages, lest thou see 
The painful dreams of sad reality. 
I would not with this lifted veil destroy 
With melancholy's blight thy hopes of future joy. 



24 ON DOUBTING TO INVITE A POOR MAN IN. 



REFLECTIONS ON THE FUTURE. 

How does man differ from the common herd, 
Man's but a mortal, and mortal is the bird. 
But has to bird or beast been given 
That anxious thought, that strong desire for 

heaven ; 
And why this thought, this longing for a God 
If all must rot beneath the rank green sod ? 
"When did his labors ever prove in vain ! 
Then why this thought if 'twas not given for 

gain. 
Even smallest objects join some greater train, 
And all are linked into one common chain. 
And thus it is that highest thought is given. 
That man on earth may smooth his path for 

heaven. 

OK DOUBTING TO INVITE A POOR MAN 
IN WHILST I WAS SICK. 

What ! not ask him in, because he is poor ? 

I'd see him if he was a sewer. 

Who cares for the rich and great, 

That leaves the feeble sufferer to his fate! 



ON SEEING A STOBE SflUT BY THE SlfERIFF. 25 



BLEST IS THE MAK 

Obedient to the Almighty nod, 

Blest is the man that held his God in awe, 
Deep lies his body far beneath the sod, 

His soul now dwells where once his mind did 
soar. 



ON SEEING A STORE SHUT BY THE 
SHERIFF. 

The store is shut — the evil omen fear. 

Some friend is dead, the news I soon must hear. 

Two bawling infants at the door await. 

Tired of knocking in sulky humor prate. 

Why has our father shut so soon the door ? 

I'm sure we'll freeze before he ope's the store. 

I read a note that told disastrous tale, 

Not death, but desolation must prevail. 

Ah ! suffering babes, in vain the day bewail, 

Thy father's goods shall make a sheriff's sale. 

My soul it melts, though justice rules the cause. 

Hard is the case, though blameless are the laws. 

Thou might have smiled amidst thy competence 

But for that sweeping curse — intemperance. 



26 OVID'S LAMENT. 



OYID'S LAMENT. 

Be hushed my muse, no more my voice inspire, 
Lov'^e has no more the charms that I desire. 
Let not thy flames awake my tortured breast, 
Enough ah'eady now deprives of rest ; 
Long is the day and slow the night does run, 
Tedious alike, with or without a sun. 

Day would seem checked by the Almighty will. 
But niglit returning is more tedious still. 
When joy runs high, short is the life of man, 
But when reversed it seems a lengthened span. 
By jealous foes in cruel exile driven, 
What's in my verse that it offence has given ? 
In various ways I've taught men how to love, 
For men must vary as did the powers above — 
This is the crime for which they punished me, 
They say my works are lacking modesty. 
Love's a luxurious and a wanton boy, 
And love's lasciviousness inspires its joy ; 
Long in my ample breast was Cupid's thnme. 
And still had been had I remained in Rome ; 
But now forever must we separate be, 
He is not banished though they banished me. 



A VISIT TO MY NATIVE SPOT. 27 

Why did the muses ever visit Rome, 
If for their visit I am driven from home, 
To pine my life away in wretched pliglit, 
That yields a thousand pains and no delight. 
No more there is jo}'^ to make me life invite. 
But Ions: the hour where lies eternal night. 
Adieu ! my muse, no more I court th}^ flame, 
Thy joys I have drank, but now despise my fame. 



WRITTEN DURING THE MEXICAN WAR. 

I HATE to hear war's glorious yell, 

I hate the ones that go 
To volunteer, with hearts of hell. 

To fill a foreign land with woe. 



A YISIT TO MY NATIVE SPOT. 

I WANT to view my natal spot, 
Where first I learned to know 

That earth is gay, and pleasures bright, 
When youthful spirits flow. 

And still that mansion stood the same 
" The parlor windows low," 

And still a sprightl}' offspring reared, 
That pain in time shall know. 



28 ONCE LIKE THE LIGHT IT SHONE. 

The neighboring liouses all were gone, 
And brighter buildings shone, 

For had enchantment placed nie there 
The spot had not been known. 

It minds me of some lorn old man. 
That's worn out all his race, 

And still dependent drags along. 
The scorn of youth and grace. 

I hoped some comfort here to find, 
Some glimpse of early joy, 

But pleasure's muse still mocking cried 
Go, melancholy Boy. 



ONCE LIKE THE LIGHT IT SHONE. 

Once like the light it shone 

So fair and radiant bright, 
But a dark cloud arose 

And veiled those joys in night. 

"What though the dark clouds lower 

And melancholy crowds. 
Yet it will shine again 

Beyond those darkening clouds. 



DESPONDENCY. 29 



NOR DOWKY SLEEP. 

NoK downy sleep shall ease my head 
Till sunk beneath superior woes, 

I reach the ocean of the blest 

There with the just and good to rest. 



DESPONDENCY. 

June 21st, 1846. 

The ambient air is filled with rosy sweets, 
And shad}' groves invite to cool retreats ; 
But all are vain, I shun the enchanting grove 
And lie retired in this drear alcove. 
The warbling fountain and the murmuring stream 
Were once my joy, but joy is but a dream ; 
The tuneful birds pour joj'^ous notes on high, 
And sounds sonorous fill the ethereal sky. 
The lofty elm with arms extended wide 
Bears its proud load, the drunken poet's pride. 
But lop the vine, the tie that nature binds. 
Its mournful sio-hs are borne alono- the winds. 
Ye warbling throng that now do sing so gay, 
Should some rude spoiler take your mates away 



30 DESPONDENCY. 

Your notes would change, your melancholy strain 
Would prove your bosoms were o'ercharged with 

pain. 
Once I, like these, could nature's mirth display. 
And in fond raptures pour my soul away, 
While 'mid the sunshine of my lovely fair 
I basked in joy, or thought me basking there ; 
But a dark cloud that long was gathering high 
Smote the clear sunshine of my genial sky ; 
I drooped ; the night I loathed, and tedious wore 

the day. 
Till time puissant swept that cloud away : 
Then I with joy beheld those sparkling eyes, 
As the lost hunter when two cots arise. 
Beneath the summit of some snow-clad cliff, 
When long he has wandered through the shape- 
less drift ; 
Night's dread has fled, those renov^ating fires. 
Fill every hope, and satiate all desires ; 
Swift flies the mind, already is he there. 
The dog in pity whines a doleful air, 
He at the threshold hears his welcome poured, 
Feels the warm fire, and shares the genial board ; 
Thus flattering hope has banished every pain, 
Nor feared the avalanche nor frowning dame. 
But ah ! to me they have proved these mystic 

fires 
That lead the wanderer in the murky mires, 



THE SAME. bl 

And there to perish, midst the hazy gloom 
And cheerless lights that lured him to the tomb. 

Then 
Farewell the fountain and the shady grove, 
Farewell the wild paths where I loved to rove, 
Farewell the pleasures of the sylvan shade, 
Farewell to music and the black-e^'ed maid — 
Farewell the flowery meads and fruitful fields, 
Farewell those suns that contemplation yields, 
Farewell those emblems all of youth and love, 
But welcome the mournino- of the turtle-dove. 



THE SAME. 

June 2lst, 1846. 

My mind is chaos, and perturbed my breast, 

Alternate passions have deprived of rest, 

All joy must floe where discord holds her reign. 

And black despair feed each insatiate vein, 

The dav is tedious, tedious whilst 'tis liffht. 

And still more tedious when i'ts wrapped in night. 

Those hapless hours when Morpheus lulls my 

head, 
All night I dream, all day those dreams I dread. 
Ah ! whv to me this luckless fate is iriven, 
I who enjoyed so many gifts from heaven — 



32 'MID PENSIVE THOUGHT. 

Must I in vain on every blessing call 

Must one proud passion triumph over all ; 

Still must I chide my tutelar power above, 

And vent my rage on unrequited love. 

But, grumbler, cease : — cease thy impiety, 

Nor dare complain at highest heaven's decree. 

For though awhile my pleasures are destroyed. 

In time again they'll doubly be enjoyed, 

In time, I hope, on that far distant shore. 

To reach that bourne which now I dread no 

more — 
Then shady groves and sweet retreats shall fill 
My mind with peace that heavenly joys distil. 



'MID PENSIVE THOUGHT. 

'Mid pensive thought I tune the descant moan, 
For thou, sad Melancholy art my own ; 
Once more I touch the long-neglected chords. 
That with fond rapture I have often soared. 
But now from this, relief may seek in vain, 
The deep-toned music is surcharged with pain ; 
In vain I seek the solitary wood. 
Or seek the haunts where oft I musing stood ; 
In vain I stroll along the fruitful plain, 
Barren my laboring mind, to aught but pain, 



'MID PENSIVE THOUGHT, 33 

Nor aught can oust, in vain I shun my grief, 

For all that offers is but sad relief, 

Oh ! tell no more of Phaon's cruelty 

Or Sa]:)pho's woes, her Phaon lives in thee, 

Nor waste a tear o'er soft compassion's tale. 

Since my true love with thee cannot prevail ; 

But smile thou still at luckless lover's fate, 

And learn to laugh at love that's paid with hate. 

Triumph, proud girl, 'tis but a lover's fall, 

Naught have you gained, though I have suffered 

all. 
Triumph, blithe heart, whilst ere awhile you may, 
(For thy proud form must wither with decay) 
Whilst yet you boast the lovely Yenus' charms' 
And mail'd secure in coy Diana's arms : 
Seek to despoil another manly breast, 
Rejoice again when victory is confessed ; 
"When rough armed Time shall lop thy charms 

away ; 
Let pride and beauty both at once decay. 
When pride survives and beauty is no more 
Man learns to hate what once he loved before. 
Enough of this ! I feel my rising sighs. 
And the salt tears are burning in my eyes. 
I still a favor crave, that 1 may be 
Though once thy slave, now set at liberty, 
That when you roll those radiant orbs around 
Give me full time to cast mine on the ground — 

3 



34 SEE NEVEtt WILL BE MINE. 

Thus long ungored by those piercing darts, 
By slow degrees the wounds shall leave my heart, 
When, freed at length from Cleopatrian harm, 
Soft peace shall steal upon me like a charm. 



MAEY'S (mUELTY. 

Pandora, last and cheerin^: crift 
That trembling joy has left me ! 

And ah ! what caused the painful reft ? 
'Tis Mary's cruelty. 

Hope now has fled, and pleasures cease, 

Nor peace is left with me, 
And must this be my cause of grief — 

My Mary's cruelty ? 



SHE NEVER WILL BE MINE. 

I HAVE seen lier lovely in her charms, 

I have seen her all divine, 
My trembling soul has checked my heart 

For fear she'd not be mine. 

1 have seen her in the crowded hnll, 
She has filled me with delight — 

For bright she shone above them all, 
Like Yesper o'er the gems of night. 



1 AM NOT LOVED. -^5 

And when those scenes of joy were past, 

Still lingered on tliat ray, 
Like Yenus when the stars all fade 

Still lingers on the day. 

I have seen her lovely 'mid her friends. 
When hearts seemed filled with glee, 

For every face she had a change. 
But had no change for me. 

Like earth's pale tending satellite. 

All heaven a change may know. 
But still unto her guardian earth. 

Those same dark spots must show. 

In melancholy's leaden press. 

Still must I ever pine. 
And know and feel the unwelcome truth — 

She never will be mine. 



I AM NOT LOVED. 

Why has this blight come o'er my hopes, 

Why am I thus possessed ? 
I am not loved ! T am not loved ! 

Comes thrilling through my breast. 



36 FOR AN ALBUM. 

"Why must I pine in cheerless mood, 
Why am I thus consigned ? 

I am not loved ! I am not loved ! 
Still rushes on my mind. 

Why do I loathe the lengthened day, 
Why dread the hours in bed ? 

I am not loved ! 1 am not loved ! 
Still echoes round my head. 

And must I ever bear such woe, 
Is there no power to save ? 

There is, there is, I feel it now : 
My true love is the grave. 



FOE AN ALBUM. 

Like Arabia's feigned enchanting leaves. 
Whose loosened tongues the path deceives, 
Believe not all that's written here. 
Though sweetest harmony appear. 
And the unfolding leaves in gaudy flame 
Should bloom with friendsiiip's holy name ; 
Lest, undeceived, the truth you own. 
That your chilled heart is turned to stone. 



SHE NEVER YET WAS MINE. 37 



TO SOPHIA. 

Why did we, Sophie, love so long, 

Why thus of friendship had we much ? 

That dear impression, Oh, how strong ! 
Of nature's softes sweetest touch. 



SHE KEYER YET WAS MINE. 

I HAVE not lost that lovely fair. 

That maid of grace divine. 
Though long my heart she did ensnare, 

She never yet was mine. 

Though long I strove to gain her love, 
And bowed beneath her shrine ; 

Nor vow, nor pain, her heart could move, 
These pangs alone were mine. 

Our cups are filled from two great urns. 

One honey and one brine, 
A sweetened cup I hope is hers — 

A bitter one is mine. 



38 TILL WOMAN SHOWS MORE LOVE FOR MB. 

More blessings than my own I'd send, 
Some guardian power divine, 

On life's slippery path to tend, 
Though she never can be mine. 

As I have loved to hear her notes 
Had she but loved my rhyme, 

Then love with love reciprocal 
Had cast her lot with mine. 



LET MARY LOVE AVHOM MARY WILL. 

Let Mary love whom Mary will, 
My heart, of love, has got its fill, 
My soul, indignant, loathes the day 
When my weak heart confessed its sway ; 
Constant as the running rill, 
I loved her once, and might have still ; 
But when the springs no tribute pay 
The murmuring rill must die away. 



TILL WOMAN SHOWS MORE LOVE FOR 
ME. 

True as the moon, whose welcome light 
Cheers the lone wanderer through the night ; 
But should Sol deny that borrowed r?iy 
Soon that light must pass away. 



THUS EKDS t:VEBT PLEASURE IN GLOOM. 39 

True as those stars that shine through space, 

And spangle heaven with twinkling grace, 

If Tonialhaut the southern glory. 

Or Castor, famous star in story, 

Were wronged of their celestial ray, 

In time their light would pass away. 

Then how could live the purest flame 

That ever graced an earthly name, 

If not one spark of living fire 

Its dying embers will inspire ? 

I thought that love had power divine, 

I felt its power beneath its shrine. 

And can no meaner passion tell 

Than love that's not reciprocal ; 

And ever will I neutral be 

Till woman shows more love for me. 



THUS ENDS EVERY PLEASURE m 
GLOOM. 

I GRAFTED a brier with a rose, 

Its growth I beheld with delight ; 

Such health and such beauty it shows, 
All hid was its ruin and bligfht. 



40 I FEEL LIFE'S EBBING JOYS DEPART. 

One morning, expecting its bloom, 

My idol in ruin I found ; 
The brier still stood in its gloom, 

But the rosebud lay shrunk on the ground. 

Thus ends every pleasure in gloom, 
~ And happiness fades by the way ; 
Our roses they blight ere they bloom. 
And joys, ere they ripen, decay. 



I FEEL LIFE'S EBBING JOYS DEPAET. 

I FEEL life's ebbing joys depart, 

Health lingering on a shadowy beam ; 

Life's fluttering on my quivering heart, 
I see dark winter reigns supreme. 

Oh God ! Oh God ! My Saviour Lord, 
I come, I come, by tempest driven ; 

Oh, save me from this wreck of earth ; 
Receive at last my soul in heaven. 



WRITTEN WHEN GOING TO CALIFORNIA. 41 



WRITTEN WHEN GOING TO CALIFOR- 
NIA. 

In vain I call that heavenly fair my dove, 

Whose gentler influence can my verse inspire ; 
In vain my secret pining for that love 

That fires my heart and tunes my vocal lyre ; 
Not like those visits of the sacred Nine, 

Whose softer influence ever was benign, 
And has ray Mary never felt this love ? 

And was that friendship nothing but a name ? 
Wh}' do I deem its influence from above, 

And her cold breast not feel one latent flame? 

Come listen, Mary, to my plaintive song, 

Whilst I reveal the secrets of my breast, 
I will not make my mournful story long, 

Though long I should if it would give me rest ; 
'Twas my freewill and not at thy request 

I loved thee first — or by the gods' behest. 
Round the soft path a rosy fragrance shed, 

That charmed tlie sense and dulled the vigil 
eye, 
Nor knew I snares were laid where I should 
tread, 

Or, had I known, too proud I'd been to fly. 



42 WRITTEN WHEN GOING TO CALIFORNIA. 

Soon the dark storm burst fiercely o'er my head, 

Nor did I flee nor trembling crouched for fear, 
Nor o'er me sought a covering shield to spread, 

But sternly met it with my bosom bare. 
Why was I born for seas of stormy life? 

Or why not better fitted for the strife ? 
But why repine, since 'tis by heaven's decree? 

For man may crave, but man cannot command, 
And what's of heaven is more than fit for me, 

For man's of earth, and his the evil hand. 

In secret still I bore the galling dart, 

Nor asked from thee a kind and healing hand ; 
From purest love I would not wound that heart, 

Calm might you live could I the storms com- 
mand, 
And me the bulwark of your feebler frame, 

Could give thee shelter with my power and 
name. 
But ah ! that power half sacrificed for thee, 

And all might go if it must hold me there. 
And fame's too cruel to be sought by me 

That kills the wretch, or intoxicates the air. 

But when that love did policy direct, 

Then green-eyed jealousy did ope his eye, 

When left alone, no shelter to protect. 
From the unequal field I had to fly ; 



WHAT! DO I HATE HER? 43 

How vain our plans, our search for bliss how vain ! 

No true reality we find, but real pain : 
Then farewell, Mary, be these parting lines 

Sacred to truth, and sacred, dear, to thee, 
And I will think when in those distant mines 

No treasure there is half so dear to me. 



ON HEARING THE WIND MOAN 
THROUGH A DRY STALK. 

I HEARD a pleasing, mournful sigh, 
It charmed the ear, but not the eye, 
Its pensive sad ^olian sound 
Well chorded with the waste around ; 
To fancy's ear 'twould ahnost talk. 
What ! Can it be that old dry stalk ? 
Thus sings the bard the livelong day, 
Unheard, his notes are waft away. 
Till, sounding from his funeral bell. 
Is pealed a poor, ungrateful knell. 



WHAT ! DO I HATE HER ? 

What ! do I hate her ? No, I love her still, 
Shall my resentment ever govern will ? 
No, I shall love her ever more and more. 
Though that cold parting wounds my bosom sore; 



44 SADNESS. 

What pity would her aching bosom move 
Could she but feel the pangs with which I strove- 
Could she but for a moment feel the pain 
That clings unto my almost bursting brain. 

But they are pangs I hope she'll never know, 
That chills the heart, forbids the blood to flow, 
With wildest fancy flits about the brain, 
And fills the breast with every aching pain ; 
But ever, ever may her path be smooth, 
Or, if 'tis marked, let it be tracks of love, 
Then, when my pangs of love shall cease to be, 
I may rejoice in her prosperity. 



SADNESS. 

Gray twilight in the woodland sets, 
The mist is resting on the wave, 

The clouds have gathered in their wings, 
And all is silent as the grave. 

Why am I not thus tuned to these, 
To feel with them this heavenly rest, 

Why have they lost their power to please, 
And I alone to be unblest. 



I STILL IN SADNESS TO MY HARP RETURN. 45 



MARY'S TEAR. 

The love, the anxious thought and fears, 
The anguish deep, the heartfelt pain, 

Was paid by one of Mary's tears 
Why did my grief return again ? 



I STILL IN SADNESS TO MY HARP 
RETURN. 

Too deep my portion from Jove's bitter urn, 
I still in sadness to my harp return. 
The change is mine from storm to scorching ray, 
The night of chaos, or the threatening day ; 
It matters not what latest passions vexed. 
Nor boots it much what shall beset me next ; 
My harp is tuned to every pensive strain, 
The hand that moves it is benumbed with pain, 
For should my heart with sorrow cease to flow 
'T would pause to listen to another's woe. 



46 THE LAST TREE OF THE ORCHARD. 



WHEN I AM DEAD AND GONE. 

There's not an honest tear to shed 

When I am dead and gone, 
The stranger still shall pause when said, 

There lies a child of song. 

But still that grave some jo}^ can bring 
Be3^ond death's gloomy bourne, 

Then time speed on your swiftest wings, 
The past I will not mourn. 



THE LAST TREE OF THE OECHARD. 

Thou sole survivor of the field, 

That once luxuriant fruit did yield — 

Tree by tree they have passed away, 

Till only one survives decay ; 

Even thou bearest marks of time's decay, 

And limb by limb 3^ou pass away. 

Fruitful and blasted, both displayed. 

Life and death are close arrayed ; 

For though thy boughs are withering fast, 

Thou still art fruitful to the last. 



JUDGE NOT FROM WHAT YOU SEE. 47 

And every limb where life's not smote 

Is burdened witli a weight of fruit. 

How different, mortals, thy decay, 

Not limb by limb we pass away — 

Those few to whom old age is given, 

(Oft rated blessing sent from Heaven) 

Their withering limbs are stark and bare, 

Bald is their head, or hoar their hair — 

No longer fitted for their toil, 

Oft feel encumberers of the soil. 

In their decay no fruit they give, 

A dull incumbent ruin live. 

The time will come, for time is rolling fast. 

When joy shall cease and my good days are past, 

By easy strokes then let me cease to be, 

And short life end in long eternity — 

That younger sons may here enjoy this dell, 

But peaceful with my fathers let me dwell. 



JUDGE NOT FEOM WHAT YOU SEE. 

Judge not because one looks so gay. 
That his is a pure summer's day. 
Judge not from objects shining bright 
That theirs is a celestial light ; 
You cannot know from outward show, 
If peace or joy has reign below. 



48 JUDGE NOT FROM WHAT TOU SEE. 

To see at times a joyous face 

Is deepest melancholy's trace — 

Nature oft wears a sombre gray, 

And night has joys as pure as day. 

'Tis where its throne contentment rears 

A rugged border oft appears ; 

'Tis thus some peaceful nations gain 

From warring worlds a quiet reign, 

Where arid sands and sterile hills appear. 

And rocks impervious on their borders rear — 

While heavenly dews on fertile ground 

Its smiling verdure sheds around ; 

Oft where proud nature looks most bright, 

Eeflecting heaven's ethereal light, 

She is yielding most to rotting time's decay, 

Or dire destruction's ruinous sway — 

Thus Hecla's bosom, clad in virgin snow. 

Is rent and tortured by its flames below. 

Vesuvius, yes, thy steepy sides are green, 

And on thy top a gorgeous plume is seen ; 

A grassy verdure thy bright vales display, 

And mirthful youth in dances crown the day. 

Then judge by this, and who could know 

Of smouldering flames, or raging fires below, 

The awful splendor of that grand display, 

Or mournful fate of Plina swept away. 

Then judge no more, for pleasing outward show 

In spirits proud may cloak the pain below. 



OU, MARY I LOVELIEST SHADE, 49 



GIVE ME THAT PEACE OF MIND. 

Thou maid of whom I've often sang, 
And filled my breast with many a pang, 
Give me that peace of mind thou can, 
And ease the melancholy man. 



TO JENNIE. 
May 18th, 1855. 

What fever this upon my brain, 
What cheerless, pensive moan ; 

Is this a lover's helpless pain. 
And must I die alone ? 

Then, Jennie, do not tarry here, 
You must not stay behind — 

When I am gone, 'tis not your sphere. 
But follow on the wind. 



OH, MAEY ! LOVELIEST SHADE. 

What vision, this, that crossed my brain, — 
I know that smile, though late in pain ; 
Though late that form was low in death, 
Now warmed with more than vulgar breath. 
4 



50 THE LYING CALIFORNIAN. 

Oh, Mary ! Mary ! loveliest shade, 
And has death thus his captive paid? 
Has he thus set thy spirit free, 
And sent its lovely form to me ? 

If fanc}'- sheds a ra}' of truth, 
Oh, happy the\" that die in youth ; 
In memor}'' still unmarked by time, 
Or only changing more divine. 

Who would not seek that land of truth. 
To always live in joyous youth ; 
"Who would not leave this world of pain, 
To have those joys that death may gain. 

Oh, speed me to my Mary's arms, 
"While yet for her I have those charms ; 
Alone with her, one hour of bliss, 
"Were worth a world of care like this. 



THE DYING CALIFORNIAN. 

Fast falls the rain, the thunder roars, 
And vivid lightning round him pours, 
The tattered tent invites the storm. 
And howlino- wolves around it swarm. 



THE DYING CALIFORNIAN. 51 

No friends are there to soothe his pain, 

Or holy words of promised gain ; 

The spoiler's hand waits not the dead, 

Ah-eady have thoy spoiled and fled ; 

Life is flitting fast awaj^, 

Death is eager to decay, 

The fever of his burning brain 

Has fanned up dying memory's flame, 

And, far o'er river, hill and dale. 

Has waft him to his native vale : 

He sees a weeping mother stand, 

He feels her press his clay-cold hand. 

And those around he Jield most dear, 

Oppressed with grief, are gathering neaj-. 

And through the chaos of his brain 

He hears their bitter siglis complain ; 

Then fixes to heaven his glassy eyes. 

His senses reel, he groans and dies. 

Oh I man, why wert thou left forlorn, 

And is this then life's promised bourne ? 

Or must examples thus be given. 

To make us build our hopes in heaven? 

Xor wealth, nor fame, nor luxury, 

From earthly cares can set us free. 

But still contented strive to live. 

And wait the gifts that Heaven will give. 



52 THE CHRYSANTHEMUM. 



THE CHRYSANTHEMUM. 

Still may the eyes behold one gentle flower, 
To shed a cheer upon this pensive hour. 
When all seems gloomy as the waning year, 
And not a hope, or scarce a joy, can cheer. 
Thou comest a guide, when most we want the 

flowers, 
To lift the mind from earth to heavenly bowers, 
And stands alone of all the sisterhood, 
Like some fair relic of the just and good. 
Whose gentle race fell like the tender flower, 
And one alone awaits the expected hour. 

Like the calm still hours of a good old man. 
The mild days of autumn have fittingly ran, 
Till, like his gray locks, the fields are all hoar, 
And the flood-rushing rains are beginning to 

pour, 
And the winds in sad requiem are singing thy 

doom — 
That winter, rough grasper, shall find thee a 

tomb. 

And oft when these mild, sunless days are gone, 
And the fierce wintry tempests are riding along, 



OH, LIFE! THOU BULL, INCUMBENT LO AT}. 53 

I'll think of the flower that cheered the dark 

day, 
The bright sunny flower that awakened ray lay, — 
It shall lighten my mind in the depths of its 

gloom, 
The joy of those flowers beyond the dark tomb. 



OH, LIFE ! THOU DULL, INCUMBENT 
LOAD. 

Oh, life ! thou dull incumbent load. 

How great the weight, how rough the road, 

How little here to gain. 

What caused this leaden, senseless pain. 
That loads my breast and dulls ray brain, 
And chills up every vein ? 

How vain those efforts are to cheer. 
For 'tis not rage, it is not fear, 
That fills my breast with pain. 

As life will spend, so joy is spent. 
And I must learn to live content. 
Till pleasure holds its reign. 



54 WELL SITS THE DEW-DROPS ON THE ROSE. 



YE GKASSY BAKKS AND MEADOWS 
GEEEN. 

Ye grass}^ banks and meadows green 
That bound tbe banks of Kill-Yon-Kull, 

How can yo spread so l)riglit a scene, 
And leave your minstrel's heart so dull? 

Ye featliered tribes — a warbling throng, 

Companions of my minstrelsy, 
"Why carol you so ga\^ a song ; 

How I so sad, and ye so free? 

Ye gentle winds, why don't you mourn, 
As soft ye float o'er blooming gull ? 

And I will answer sigh for sigh. 
To echoing banks of Kill-Von-Kull. 



WELL SITS THE DEWDROP ON THE ROSE. 

Well sits the dewdrop on the rose, 
That grows upon my Mary's grave ; 

Early Aveeping as it blows, 

Hoping some guardian power will save. 



MT MOTBEB'S GRAVE. 55 

And well it merits guardian care, 

So fittingly it fills that place ; 
It seems the truest, loveliest heir 

Of Mary's beauty and her grace. 

Like Mary soon thy charms shall fade, 
Kg earthly power that bloom can save, 

When, then, thou art an empty shade 

What flower shall bloom above thy grave ? 



OH, BUKY ME AMONG THE TREES I LOVE. 

Oh ! bury me 'mid my children dear. 
On the spot where my fruit-trees stand, 

And their bloom and their fruits my spirits shall 
cheer, 
If spirits may visit this land, ' 



WRITTEN WHILE SITTING OYER MY 
MOTHER'S GRAYE, THE EYENING OF 
HER BURIAL. 

Dearest mother, art thou sleeping. 
Beneath this cold and cheerless sod ? 

And thv son above thee weeping. 
O'er this gathered heap of clod. 



56 AH, CRUEL FATE! 

Oh, no, mother, thou art o'er me, 

Looking down u])on thy son ; 
Long thou struggled for the glory, 

Now at last the glory's won. 

And now my course I'll homeward bend me, 
And feel no more thou art forsaken. 

And thy spirit aid may lend me : 
For thy soul by God is taken. 



AH, CRUEL FATE ! 

Ah, cruel fate, Avhat bitter drugs are given 
To wretched mortals from the urns of Heaven, 
By turns the sweet, but chief from bitter fills. 
And still the bitter through the sweet distils. 
'Tis but yest'day's smiles my bosom warmed, 
To-day, in the same form 1 feel I'm scorned ; 
But still I know her passions are the same. 
For half in pain each uncouth utterance came, 
Choking itself like a smouldering flame. 
From the same source must I bear wound on 

wound, 
That living corse too rotten for the ground. 
But still I must, it is, it's Fate's decree. 
For evil tongues in evil still must be. 



An, CRUEL FATE! 57 

But, oh, ho\Y long does seem that monster's reign, 
"Who still does glory in another's pain. 
But still I bow and own the will of Heaven, 
For who doth know why dearth or flood are 

given. 
While yet I was a stranger to this place, 
Thou called me fool ere thou beheld my face ; 
Oh, scourge of earth, how could thou still have 

joy 

To wage a war upon a stripling boy ? 
And since that time, thou hj^pocrite, thou know 
A double wrath has made my bosom glow. 
But oh, ye Gods ! why do I feel this pain ? 
If this I must, what is the poet's gain ? 
Must the rich soil still burden on the fields 
That to the reaper such painful harvest yields ? 
Oh, every aching pang to me thou yield, 
Unpitying muse, that ought to be my shield ! 
Disease and sickness, thou might come in vain, 
And death, oh, death, to me, thou would have no 

pain. 
But now, my muse, I'll let thee rest awhile, 
Till softer smiles can sweeter hours beguile, 
For since my pen can nought of comfort yield, 
I'll seek the athletic labors of the field. 



58 1 UA VE NO TEARti TO SHED. 



I HAVE NO TEAPtS TO SHED. 

They say sorrow's bitter tears, 

In sympathetic woe, 
Much the drooping- spirit cheers, 

When they can freely flow. 

But I am not of tears possessed ; 

When sympathy does glow. 
It's inly burning in my breast, 

And no relief does know. 

Why should mortals dread to die, 

AVhat terror has mortalit}^ ? 
What do we leave that we should sigh ? 

It is a morbid sympathy. 

The body dead, freed is the mind, 
No more to earth it is confined, 

But swift as thought it mounts the wind, 
And leaves the world and cares behind. 

When the spirit has passed away. 

Soon the body shall decay. 
Then we cease terrestrial strife, 

And begin celestial life. 



AND I MUST EVER PINE. 59 



now COULD YOU VENTURE FORTH, MY 
LOYE ? 

How could you venture forth, ray love, 
And leave your pensive mate at home ? 

Ye sham'd the gentle name of dove 

When first ye nursed a thought to roam. 

The wintry frost soon chills the song 
That feels no sacred warmth divine ; 

And spring returns to find him mute, 
That still must mourn his valentine. 



AND I MUST EYER PINE. 

How vain would time his comfort send, 
How vain the shadowy name of friend ! 
Nor change of scene can make me glad. 
Like Petrarch still forever sad. 
Like him to Laura must complain. 
Like his my labor still is vain. 
The admiring crowd in vain might gaze, 
I only seek my Laura's praise ; 



60 THE NOBLE OLD CHERRY TREES. 

The redbreast feels the hunter's hate, 
The dove must mourn her absent mate ; 
Still wounded I must ever pine, 
And mourn my absent valentine. 



ON CUTTING DOWN OF THE NOBLE OLD 
CHEHRY TREES ON THE SHORE 
ROAD OF THE PELTON ESTATE, ONE 
HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN RINGS 
WERE COUNTED ON SOME OF THE 
LOGS. 

What now shall fill those noble monarchs' place, 
Who'll point to heaven with such majestic grace? 
For ages batterVl by the storm's alarms. 
Whose wintry blasts fell harmless on their arms ; 
While rolling clouds the threat'ning thunders 

rouse. 
The flying lightning harmless pass their boughs. 
Nor time, nor age, had fell'd them with their 

darts, 
Nor cank'ring worms had reach'd their vital parts ; 
But restless man had summonsed them to fall, 
A tyrant lordllng mimick'd nature's call. 
The sturdy woodman, with the ruthless axe, 
Relentless plies ; their giant strength relax, 



MEETING OF TWO HOMESICK EMIGRANTS. 61 

And tumbling, sidelong, lash the trembling 

ground ; 
Their crushing weight makes trembling earth 

resound ; 
Nor are they left to moulder as they lay, 
Consum'd by fire, ignobly pass away. 



MEETING OF TWO HOMESICK EMI- 
GRANTS IN THE FAR-AWAY DIG- 
GINGS OF CALIFORNIA. 

Oh ! know ye the land where the mountain and 
stream 

May smile at the sun, and gladden its beam? 

Know ye the land of the fruit-tree and vine. 

And the changes of nature seem more than di- 
vine ? 

Oh! know ye the land from oppression still free? 

And the proud eagle soars o'er the liberty tree ; 

'Tis the land of the east, 'tis my dear native 
land ; 

Oh ! why did I leave its peace-smiling strand. 

Why wake ye the thought, that land is my own ! 
Why chill ye my life's blood, why raise ye a 
groan ? 



62 MEETING OF TWO HOMESICK EMIGRANTS. 

"Why raise ye my thoug-hts, why rouse ye my 

fear 
Of the faith, and the safety, of one that's so 

dear ? 
Why wake ye the thoughts of kindred and 

friends. 
When ye have not the comforts to make me 

amends 'i 
Name not this life waste for visions so sear, 
The sound of my folly is harsh to my ear. 

I have long made this rich ore my treasure and 

pride, 
I have long made my wailings to the mountain's 

hoarse tide ; 
Like the Cock with the jewel, it's no treasure to 

me. 
And the stream rushes by, all careless and free. 
To my countrymen dear must my passions have 

vent. 
Alone will they listen to my soul's discontent ; 
For my country and countrymen are equal tome, 
And rare is the sight once so common to see. 

To your countrymen, then, 3^our passions give 
vent, 

But chide not that land that gave all but con- 
tent; 



CALIFORNIA EMIGRANT' S PRAYER. 63 

For just is the vengeance, and just is the rod 
Tliat punishes sin, and jilst is the God 
Tliat visiteth vengeance on to the head 
That shouted o'er conquest or innocent dead, 
Tlien cease ye to murmur and join me in prayer. 
And trust in the merc\^ of heavenly care. 



PRAYEE. 

Oh ! Heavenly Father, Umpire, righteous Judge, 
That rule the heavens, and rule the earth in love ; 
To Thee we pray, and in our prayer we own 
Ourselves unwise, and truth in Thee alone. 
May the good steel that breaks the stubborn sod, 
And gives the bounties of a bounteous God, 
By its true worth be valued every ore. 
And by that worth let none be valued more. 
Teach us that comforts to our wants are sent, 
And the chief comfort is a mind content ; 
That wanderino- man at home at length nuiv find 
That true contentment dwells within the mind. 



CALIFORNIA EMIGRANT'S PRAYER. 

God of our fathers, don't forsake 
Thy children in a foreign land ; 

Still doth Thou give, and still we take, 
Ungrateful to the Giver's hand. 



64 FROM THE DEAD TO THE LIVING. 

Guide us, Lord, where lies the treasure, 
Give us health and strength to toil, 

Teach in time to know our measure. 
Nor tempt our greedy eyes with spoil. 

"When at length we gain our measure, 
And the pilgrim's toil is past, 

Lead us home to peace and pleasure, 
To rest our weary limbs at last. 



FKOM THE DEAD TO THE LIVING. 

"Weep o'er my tomb, 'twill moulder and decay 
Ye cannot weep o'er that which fled away. 
Far into space, to distant realms away, 
Where God Eternal lights celestial day, 
"Where at His beck retiring chaos swarms, 
And at each nod some new creation forms. 
Oh, could I weep, but sorrow dwells not here, 
I'd shed a deluge for each wasted tear, 
And drown your grief and start you on the road 
That brings 3'ou jo3^ous to this blest abode. 
No, for all the sands, when numbered, are but few, 
And small the portion that's assigned to you ; 
And death's not vain, and well it were, 
"While living still, for heaven 3^e Avould prepare. 
If fruit on earth pays for the labor's toil 
Think of the seed that's cast on heavenly soil. 



SINCE MARY LONGED TO LEAVE THIS EARTH. 65 

Where ye shall reap of all the jojs ye've sown, 
And joys of others are not less your own. 
The boundless space, the unfathomed sea, 
The endless cycle of eternity — 
Where ambrosial fruits hung 'mid the flowers of 

May, 
And heavenly joys told not in earthly lay. 
Cease, then, to mourn and dry the fruitless tear, 
And live alone to meet thy kindred here. 



SINCE MAEY LONGED TO LEAYE THIS 
EARTH. 

Since Mary long'd to leave this earth, 
How could I long to stay behind ! 

Her death has been an angel's birth. 
By truth and virtue most refined. 

Among the regions of the blest, 

With meekest grace she fills her seat 

Oh ! could I bear that heavenly test ! 
Or gain her side, if at her feet. 

For sure it is in calmest skies 

Where she a resting-place has found ; 

Even where her mouldering body lies, 
Seems more than consecrated ground. 

5 



66 ^y JENNY. 



O'EE MARY'S GEAYE. 

In secret, Mary, long we loved, 
In secret now I mourn for thee. 

For thee I ever thought and moved, 
Then now my guardian angel be! 

And guide me to that happy land, 
Where lovers meet to part no more ; 

Where earth-tried love shall ever stand, 
And bliss alone can reach that shore. 



MY JENNY. 

How could ye >vander forth, my love. 

And leave your pensive mate at home 
Ye shamed the gentle name of dove. 

When first ye nursed a thought to roam. 
With me my Jenny will not stay, 

But still for pleasure she will fly ; 
She wished for pleasure far away. 

And left with me a wish to die. 

May 17th, 1855. 



BETIBEMENT. 67 



NOT ALWAYS NOW. 

Ah ! Melancholy, thou reign'st not always now, 

But now and then I have a spell of joy ; 
Then dull oblivion, with lier rusty plough, 
Forgets to mar the sniootimess of my brow : 
And blithe I feel as a Bacchanalian Boy. 



AH ! MELANCHOLY, SOFT-EYED MAID. 

Ah ! Melancholy ; soft-eyed maid, 
Why hast thou such attention paid, 

Why woo'd thy pensive boy ? 
Go seek the gay, the wild, the free, 
And let thy slave, thy captive be; 

And give me once to joy. 



EETIKEMENT. 

What tortures ambition's fire, 
Or fills the breast with strong desire? 
What should make the mind to glow 
For that which nature can't bestow ? 



68 CHARMING NATURE. 

Why so zealously engage, 
In that which ends in pain and rage ? 
Why should we not shun the brawl, 
When naught is sweet, but all is gall? 

Seek not fame that's in the storm, 
For guile the bosom cannot warm ; 
Retirement is the only joy 
That frees the bosom from alloy. 

Seek no more ambition's stride. 
But follow in the smoother tide ; 
Let thy bark glide gently on. 
Nor listen to delusion's song. 



CHARMING NATURE. 

In Nature's bosom let me lie. 

For I her beauties can descry, 

And the self-same protecting arm 

That warms her shall my bosom charm. 



A TALE OF MT GRANDSIRE. 69 



A TALE OF MY GRANDSIRE. 

To friends and fellows I'll relate 
A story that's of ancient date, 
E're hoax or humbug had a name, 
And witches were well known to fame ; 
And wiser men than you or I 
From evil spirits deigned to fly : 

Now on this feeble upstart race, 
There's, wingless fairies take their place, 
That haunt our race and vex us more 
Than witches that have lived before. 

I sing the tale of a hero bold. 

Of time that's past, and now grown old. 

When music filled the Choirs. 

When our forefathers, early bred 
To hardy deeds, by freedom led. 
For liberty inspires. 

Now dwindled to a pigmy race. 
There's not a remnant you can trace 
Of our gigantic sires. 



70 A TALE OF MY OMANDSIRE. 

Xot Scotia's fog-benighted loxnd, 
Nor Innisfail, nor Lochnin's strand, 
Has known more rliabdoraantic power 
Nor courage tried in perilous hour. 
Their chiefs bend forward one and all 
To view the scene from Odin's hall ; 
Even Perseus' self to see it had such will 
He bade the constellations all stand still. 
(Ah! careless Perseus! killing with a quoit 
Who I to life am laboring to translate.) 
And fierce Orion stopp'd his heavenly fiight 
And gave the sister pleiad's short respite : 
And Orpheus stop'd — but 'twas from dread 
That he sliouUl buck a miglitler hero's head: 
For great Abides, sooner than lose Ihe sight 
"Would burn another shirt to have given him light ; 
And Dogs and Bears and heavenly cattle stood, 
Even Jove himself told Juno it was good, 
And would have placed him 'mid the shining stars, 
But dared not crowd for fear of family jars, 
For envy burns lest someone should be praised 
Where they have earned none in these latter days. 

'Twixt Pennsylvania and Atlantic shore. 

In Cranberry's plain there dwelt a witch of yore, 

'Mid hogs and kine there ne'er was made such 

slaughter 
By any witch that ever lived before her. 



A TALE OF MY GRANDSIRE. 71 

'] he stall-fed ox unslangbtered died, 
And colts that ne'er a man did ride ; 
The crazy pigs pursued their tails, 
And blood besmeared the milking- pails. 
Such woful work, who ^^ell could bear it 
But warring witches who would dare it. 
Full sore the country people were aggrieved. 
And much from her they wished to be relieved. 
'Twas in the school house they agreed to Ineet, 
And in the front the aged took their seat ; 
(Men whose furrow'd cheeks and hoary brow 
Prove to the youth that the strong man must bow ; 
That their glass windows will in time grow dim, 
And life's pale lamj) but mock us as we trim.) 
But here I will not tell what there was told, 
How many an artful witch and wizard bold. 
That did in olden times their witciicraft play, 
And the device that drove each curse away. 
Of tiie late witch alone I will relate, 
And hope from it I will not deviate, 
Lest in the epic part my story fail, 
And my poor Epos ends without a tale. 
Now rumor to the meeting had made known, 
And it was true, as here it will he shown, 
In Philadelphia there one did live. 
That for killing witches a receipt could give. 
But who the journey durst to undertake? 
A war with witches was so great a stake! 



72 A TALE OF ^fY GRANDSIRE. 

And Kaucy had the natives in suoh fear 
That none against her dared to volunteer. 
They many sought ; at length they did prevail 
The task upon Joakim Van Arsdale ; 
Three times six suns he had beheld with joy, 
"Whose genial warmth had reared the giant boy ; 
Six feet three inches was his ample height, 
His hair was curly, and his skin was light ; 
Broad were his slioulders, stately was his gait, 
And sixteen stone could scarce dispute his weight. 
Earth trembled as he trod ; or if he rode 
The bending axles groaned beneath its load. 
Full seventeen hands his gelding was in height. 
Silver his bit, three girts Avere buckled tight. 
For could she get her fingers 'neath the girt 
The prostrate rider grovels in the dirt. 
'Tis silver scares the devil out the track, 
(For that's the stuff that keeps him off our back) 
His ample neck sustains a double rein, 
And graceful flows the honors of his mane ; 
His well-turned rump supports a length of tail, 
Tliat sweeps the ground or floats amid the gale ; 
His nostrils spread, his eyeballs flashing far 
Proved he was conscious of the coming war. 
The rider's soul had mingled with the horse, 
And the strong youth was breathing frbm its force, 
Nor shall we like Dan Homer pain 
Our readers with a yarn of strain ; 



A TALE OF MY GBANDSIBE. 73 

Suffice to say, a sire he had, 

And that he Avas a famous dad. 

Thus fitted out he on his journey went, 

And many a blessing with the boy was sent — 

Though they persuaded him, much did they fear, 

Ne'er horse nor rider woukl again appear. 

And when he left his aged sire did grieve, 

Fearing that Nancy might his path deceive ; 

The affianced Katy saw the youth depart. 

And love's sharp pangs shot keenly through her 

heart. 
On her broad* brow the untutored ringlets hung, 
And loose dishevel'd o'er her bosom swung, 
Half tear, half smile, she waved a parting hand. 
Then sought a height tliat viewed the distant 

land : 
And when he vanished on the distant plain 
In raging grief she gave vent to her pain : 
" How can I part with the brave hero fair, 
My dear Joakira, with the auburn hair. 
I cannot blame my chief for what he does. 
How could he less who his dear country loves ; 
But much T fear that he, in evil hour, 
Will fall a victim to the infernal power." 
Then ceased the wail that into silence wanes 
And hides her roses with her lily hands. 
Now when Aurora gilds the coming morn. 
He many miles had on his journey gone, 



74 A TALE OF MY GliANDSIBE. 

Whilst ev'ry liedge and bush he eyed 

And oft imagined that some fiend he spied. 

(What feelings strange will often nettle 

Even the mightiest man of mettle.) 

For well he looked about with vigil stare 

Lest the curst witch should take him un 

aware. 
Now safe arrived at the destined spot, 
The wily craftsman soon contrived a plot 
To bring Miss Nancy to untimely end, 
Nor all her witchcraft could her life defend. 

Now, anxious to perform the deed, 
He eagerly did mount his steed 
And urged him at a hurried gait, 
Nor scarcely for the time can wait, 
But swift retraced his steps again 
'Till safe arrived at Cranberry plain. 
And home he did his kinsmen meet 
Who welcomed him with hearty greet 
And pi'aised and gloried in their son. 
And deemed success already won. 
Nor lost he time : within an hour 
He had begun the magic power. 
First cautiously he closed the room, 
Which cast o'er it a solemn gloom ; 
He then the horse-shoes hung about 
To keep the witching lady out. 



A TALE OF MY GliANDSIBE. 75 

Now Yakiin- can her fate control 

By tlie contents of a bowl, 

In which lie pins and needles stood 

That he intermixed with blood. 

And whilst 'twas boiling, with a knife 

He cut and })ow-wows 'gainst her life. 

Soon as the blood is boiled dry 

Then the intended witch must die; 

Unless some one should bi^eak the charm. 

And free the wretched curse from harm. 

He had not far the work advanced 

When merrily the neetUes danced, 

Aiid every other boding told 

The witch that time had been too old. 

(Then he into the kitchen went 

And there he found that b}" consent 

A lump of sugar she'd received 

And thus that time had been relieved. 

Ah ! disappointment, accui-sed knigJjt ! 

That still pursues eacli wretched wight; 

There's not a labor that we undertake 

But that fell fiend would gladly make forsake^ 

But he was not discouraged yet, 

Nor for a moment did he fret. 

It being on the Sabbath day. 

Soon for the church they bent their way; 

* A nickname for Joakim. 



76 A TALE OF MY GRANDSIRE. 

None but himself was left at home 

To safely work his scheme alone. 

He nailed up horse-shoes all around, 

To keep old Kancy from the ground. 

To make himself securer 3'et 

He o'er the windows did them set ; 

Then firing up the coals again, 

He did not boil the blood in vain. 

Tempest'ous winds began to howl, 

And frowning skies o'er earth did scowl ; 

The lightnings flash from cloud to cloud 

And rolling thunders peal aloud ; 

The furies seemed at war with fate 

And earth appeared to have changed its gait, 

The heavenly powers to have lost their sway, 

And all their floodgates swept away 

Loud the madden'd waters roar, 

The swelling brook breaks down the shore; 

The rising deluge floods the plain 

And roll in billows to the main : 

And hell with all its power of boiling 

Seemed with the devil fairly toiling. 

Not long such uproar can sustain, 

Miss Nancy sinks beneath the pain ; 

The pins and needles sorely smart 

The blood is gathering towards her heart; 

She sinks beneath the piercing pain. 

Never, never to arise again. 



A TALE OF MY GRANDSIRE. 77 

But Satan, tilled with vengeance dire, 
Caught the last spark of Nancy's fire, 
And thrust it in Joakini's loins 
Which to each victim of the race adjoins. 
And rankles with infernal rage, 
Their ceaseless veno;eance to assuaire. 

But now I change the earthly scene 
And lift the veil that witches screen, 
And show them in their court below 
And let you see the Devil's show. 
Where, floating in fantastic form. 
Like bees that know not where to swarm. 
And pass the time in foul diversion. 
Or practice arts of man's aversion. 
They make bewilder'd trav'lers walk. 
And torture babes that cannot talk. 
Misguide the nurse who tends the sick, 
And help the robber in his trick. 
Swindlers and gamblers find in money, 
And drunkards tell that gall is honey. 
Soft-lieaded fools they set to rhyming 
And bore their friends to hear them chiming. 
And feast on blood and strife of man 
And love the cries of wife and orphan. 

(And should this make your conscience start, 
Behold what works they have, of art. 
Sculptures of rogues themselves made smart.) 



78 A TALE OF MY GRANBSIBE. 

And none more bright they love to sing, 

Than Macedonia's great king ; 

And Ciesar charmed on Egypt's shore, 

And near him stands his polished whore; 

And Bonaj3arte the front of battle, 

The old witch fame will always rattle; 

And they who came at country's call 

Only to make their country bawl ; 

And smaller knaves with smaller wishes, 

AVho only wanted loaves and fishes ; 

Lawyers who would for rascals plead 

Or help the rich the poor man bleed ; 

And Yankees who to kings would monkey. 

Each doom'd to be a devil's flunkey. 

Match-makers and match-breakers all. 

Joining in one common brawl ; 

And fools that did 'gainst witchcraft pi'attle, 

AVhose back they mark like Jacob's cattle. 

The hypocrite that rides on churches. 

And rogues too deep for human searches, 

Tlie infidel who sought no God, 

And he who curst his native sod ; 

The moralist that has no creed, 

But preaches to make religion bleed ; 

And they who at good morals scoff, — 

But Nan is called and we are off ; 

The picture w^ants to make it good 

Who shed his guiltless brother's blood, 



A TALE OF 3ir GRANBSIRE. 79 

And i^uey who did not get the name 
Checked by bloody vengeance flame. 
But Satan's wife is such a sloven, 
Slie takes theui all to heat the oven. 

Now if to mercy you're inclined, 
And think Joakim was unkind, 
Count all the mischief done on earth, 
From Nancy's death to Adam's birth. 
So sure I'd feel you'd burn the witches 
I'd bet my hat, my boots, my breeches. 

Who envies now old Nancy's ])liss 

'Mid scrapings of a world like this? 

With devil's furies and old witches 

AYith howling hell-hounds, fill the niches. 

She's ushered in her boding-place 

Of lasting]: shame and dire disorrace. 

The witches rav'd and rant'd awful. 

But dar'd no more — it was unlawful. 

And Nick, lest more should from them sever, 

Did turn the keys and bolts forever. 

So gang along to earth again 

And view the scene upon the plain. 

Where on a sudden all was calm. 

Dried was the blood, broke was the charm. 

The church-folks wonder w^hat's the matter, 

At such an elemental clatter. 



80 A TALE OF MV GRANDSIRE. 

But soon they heard what Yakim did, 
And of her witchcraft they were rid. 
Swift rumor's undulating tide 
Spread the ghid tidings far and wide. 
Peace to the hind, for now they know 
That Nancy's soul was sent below, 
Nor lives the man did ever see 
Another witch in Cranberry. 

Tills is a tale of other times 
When Satan lill'd the world with crimes, 
And often by his magic art 
Wounded man with many a smart. 
But that is not the case this day. 
Magic power has lost its sway. 
And nothing of its charm we know, 
Save what our fathers can bestow. 
And much I loved those tales to hear 
In mingled joy with boyish fear ; 
And fresh it's in my mem'ry yet, 
How 'neath the arbor he would sit. 
Divide an apple or a pear, 
And with the children he would share ; 
And there repeat the oft-told tale, 
How 'gainst the witch he did prevail, 
And deem'd the deed more valiant far 
Than fighting in his country's war ; 



A TRUE STORY. 81 

Tlioiigh loud lie heard near Monmouth's shore 

The belching guns ejecting ore; 

And, as he coursed the field around 

Our valiant steed received a wound, 

And tumbling headlong, bit the ground. 

And as by Lee he had been led, 

With frightened Lee for safety fled, 

Though rallied on by Green again, 

No laurels claimed to hide his shame. 

Alas! he fell, that hero bold. 

Whom time had spared till he grew old, 

And foes outliv'd and witches bold. 

And said those troubled times had passed away, 

And not a witch there lived this day. 



A TKUE STORY. 

In days whilom while freedom yet was young, 
And her brave sons scarce taught humanity : 

Like young benevolence she crushed the sombre 
worm, 
But beauty charmed to spare the butterfly. 

Hard by the sea there lived a man of means, . 

Rough as its waves and boisterous as its roar ; 

His heart grew hard amid those stormy scenes, 

Nor aught of grandeur taught his mind to soar. 
6 



B^ A TRtfE STORT. 

Of late by freedom's sons he had been freed, 
Who still left Afric's sable sons to scorn ; 

They for their father's weakness still must bleed, 
Or joys unknown that wait beyond this bourne. 

They have forgot that ^thiops once were men, 
In science, art, and every virtuous form ; 

To trace it now none but the liberal can. 
Their Maker's image withered in the storm. 

These left in nature's vilest paths to run. 

And down corruption's trodden paths to stray ; 

Then held to scorn they bid tiie virtuous shun. 
That glutton avarice still may on them prey. 

Thus kept this brutal lord, his brutal train,' 
Himself untutored as the slaves he drove ; 

Humanity had ceased to show him pain. 

Seeing no kind passions ever with him strove. 

Then oft amid them rose fierce discontent, 
And angry passions fanned by low desire ; 

Then taught as oft their folly to repent. 
By the ruds cudgel and their master's ire. 

The meekest of the crew all night till dawn, 
In social glee and wild carouse had spent. 

Waits now the coming of the tell-tale morn. 
And hopes unknown to toil the day content. 



A TRUE STORY. 83 

Almost unseen he in a corner set, 

O'er the raked coals in nodding sleep's, half 
dream ; 
When a scolding wench who first began to fret, 

Then used her Maker's name in high blaspheme. 

From words she let her angry temper glow, 
And sought to drag him from his grudged re- 
treat ; 

He onl}^ pushed her, with untutored blow, 
Enough her envious object to defeat. 

A minion wretch amid this servile crew. 

Who by flattery vile had raised him o'er the 
rest ; 

To save his own, his brothers' blood oft drew. 
The master's safeguard, and the negroes' pest. 

In rushed this hated of the servile crew, 

Unknown the case, on harmless Lake he flew; 

Heads, hands, and feet to fierce contention grew, 
" Enough ! " proclaims Lake, champion of the 
negro crew. 

Their master now they call amid their fears, 
Nor aught had seen, nor aught of merit knows ; 

In boots and pants, he, half undress'd, appears, 
Nor paused, but aim'd at once his lasting blows. 



84 A TRUE STORY. 

Full on Lake's mouth his heavy fist did ring, 
The mangled mouth poured forth a purple 
flood ; 
Deep in his thigh his nimble foot did swing, 
The strong bone crushed, no more the negro 
stood. 

" Avaunt ! Avaunt ! begone, nor dare to stay," 
"While still beneath his feet the negro lay ; 

" Avaunt ! Begone ! " the negro creeps away : 
And seeks a refuge in a stack of hay. 

Thus 'mid his pain was heard the negro's prayer, 
The listening heaven attends the negro's cries ; 

" Oh ! Heavenly Father, judge Ye this affair ; " 
The Father nods as 'long the heavens it flies. 

Tlie rolling time seemed careless of the deed. 
The land's proud law had set the negro free ; 

But woe is he that waits by Heaven decreed 
The vengeance dire that waits for Heaven's 
decree. 

Two scores of winters with their horrors grim, 
"With boisterous skies had filled tlie land with 
gloom ; 
Ripe he had grown, but not to gathering in, 
"When fate, grim scourger, brought his certain 
doom. 



FAIR VIRGINIA. 85 

In nature's laws there is a general rule, 

Those parts that sin must bear the avenging 
gore ; 

Thus fate with him, his foot had been the tool, 
His toes then first began to feel the canker sore. 

With foul corruption issuing from liis toes, 
Braced in a chair he cannot stand or lay ; 

With Jjurning inflammation still it glows, 
Thus tedious time doth slowly pass away. 

Toe after toe, corrupted, dropjied away. 

Thus lingered long this living lump of clay ; 

Thus tortured keen he longs the destined day. 
And last 'mid keenest torment passed away. 

Ye friends and fellows of the human kind, 

Both man and brute, ye well may fear to harm, 

Think not kind heaven to cruel acts is blind. 
Or by some spell think not to break the charm. 



FAIK YIRGINIA. 

Fair Virginia, land of moil. 
Land that never has been free ; 

Soil that's tilled by slavery's toil, 
Shames the name of liberty. 



86 FAIR VIRGINIA. 

I stood upon a lofty bill, 
That far o'erlooked the plain below ; 
Where I could trace the rapid rill, 
To a majestic river grow. 

And now Aurora's golden light, 
Had chased away the shades of night ; 
It matters not, through toil and mirth, 
lie still pursues her through the earth. 

The dewdrops glisten in the light, 
Nor ever was a scene more bright, 
As o'er the plain supine they lay, 
And turned to heaven each golden ray. 

Nor alone was such beauty for land to display. 
Whilst the sparkling dewdrops shone on each 

spray ; 
A brijiht sunbeam shone on each billow, 
While the slave-owner dreams on a soft downy 

pillow. 

But now from nature and beauty I turn, 

Whilst anger and pity doth melt and burn ; 

To think that the land where they boast they are 

free, 
Should encumber their soil with accursed slavery. 



FAin viitGintA. 87 

Whilst I viewed some mean huts from it there 

ran 
An animal herd, men driven by man ; 
I counted their numbers and exclaim'd then, 
How is it, m}^ God, that one can drive ten ? 

But now the toil for the field must be shorn, 
When nature and culture has reared the ripe 

corn. 
And see in the field they have each got a row, 
And see how it falls beneath the strong blow. 

But why in the rear does one of them lag. 
Why does his corn-knife so heavily drag? 
AVhen foremost in labor is all they aspire, 
For this is the height that they know to desire. 

Ah ! cruel driver, why was that crack ? 
Why laid the butt of thy whip on his back ? 
Can thou not see that his limbs have grown 

slack, 
It is not in spirit but in strength that he lack. 

Though he is urged on with blows, he speeds not 

the more, 
Slower, even slower, he works than liefore ; 
For soon must that spirit from slaveiy go, 
For death she has struck him a heavier blow. 



88 FAIR VIRGINIA. 

In vuin the poor wretch for mercy now calls, 
The more he cries out, the more the whip falls, 
But now he can bear no longer the pain ; 
He staggers and reels and falls on the plain. 

"Whilst the driver stands o'er him with gudgeon 

on high, 
And swears by the prince of hell, and the sky. 
That he shall arise and join in the toil, 
Nor leave his companions to till all the soil. 

Ah ! thou poor wretch, thou beateth in vain, 
Forever you have lost what you swore you would 

gain ; 
For he is a free man, and his spirit is fled, 
And you are a slave encumbered with dead. 

And must such scenes as these forever be. 
And in a land that boasts of liberty ? 
An empty boast, for half of liberty 
Is that, to know our fellowmen are free. 



ON THE DEATH OF MISS FANNY LEGGETT. 89 



SENT TO BAEON DUFFIE ON THE BIETH 
OF HIS FIEST SON (MY ONLY NEPHEW). 

ANSWER TO A TELEGRAM. 

The heartfelt joy, the heavenly bliss of meeting, 
To the dear boy I send this welcome greeting. 
Blest be your house while high your hearts are 

beating 
With holy joy ; the ecstatic bliss of meeting 
Thy son and heir. Heaven send prophetic weet- 

ing 
Of bliss to come ; I send welcome greeting. 



ON THE DEATH OF MISS FANNY LEG- 
GETT, DAUGHTER OF THE KEY. THE- 
ODORE S. LEGGETT, D.D. 

March 23d, 1897. 

Oh ! Heavenly Muse, once more my voice inspire, 
Attune the strings, send down celestial fire, 
Pour forth the balm that heavenly raptures bring, 
For agonizing grief refuses still to sing ; 



90 THE VISION. 

Thy portals spread, let the old bard discern 
Angelic forms bear off a golden urn ; 
A iieaven-(lroptsj)ark enclos'd to heaven return'd, 
Where late on earth the enchanting spirit burn'd. 

And still, dear girl, attend me whilst I sing, 
And still, to earth glad heavenly tidings bring; 
To parents sad, and him 3'ou held most dear 
Next to the Saviour, and the God we fear. 
That manly form, alas, bent down with grief! 
Thy Saviour seek, seek and He'll give relief. 
And thou, dear girl, beholding from on high 
Our struggling toils, as life is passing by ; 
Amid the raptures of the glorious scenes, 
Eeflect those raptures to the land of dreams : 
Come to our dreams,thou emblem of love and truth, 
Gladden our memory with thy joyous youth. 



THE VISION. 

On the death of the three children of the Rev. Theodore 
S. Leggett, D.D. 

March 24th, 1897. 

What low'ring clouds invest my vision clear. 
As through the dim gloom the gorgeous lights 

appear : 
What sudden burst amid creation's gloom, 
What o:lorious visions rising from the tomb. 



Oy IlENItY FOUNTAIN. 91 

Still as I gaze the fiery cloiuls take form, 

And mystic shapes 'mid whirling chaos swarm : 

Low murmuring sounds the senses first prepare, 

Then sounds seraphic charms the listening ear; 

Triumphant forms mid the bewild'ring maze, 

In order form to my astonished gaze. 

Now I behold bright gems in shining crowns. 

And feathery seats below in cushioned lounge, 

And soft upon this aerial car appears 

Three lovely forms, fresh fi-om their earthly biers; 

By angels borne on every side they fly, 

Their precious load swift mounting to the sky ; 

In pirans soft, sweet music charms the ear : 

Entranced I stand ; upward they disappear. 



ON HENRY FOUNTAIN. 

Died 1840. 

Sweet is the memory of the past, 
But not as sweet as Henry's rest ; 

He suffered but a worldly blast 
Then with his God forever blest. 



92 ON THE DEATH OF JOHN TOTTEN. 



ON THE DEATH OF JOHN TOTTEN MEET- 
ING HIS FATHER. 

Father. 

On ! haste, my son, from earth to flee, 
Short tliy stay below must be — 
The ant^el Death has set thee free, 
Come to heaven ; Oh, come to me I 

Son. 

Swifter than light my spirit flies, 
Oh ! tell me, father of the skies. 
And I will tell thee what I know- 
About the bourne I left below. 



Father. 

You need not tell what Ceres yields; 
Let us through Elysian fields. 
Where ambrosial fruits do grow, 
And nectar springs profusely flow, 
There shall we wait our better ])art 
That yet must feel terrestrial smart. 
While sweet the time we'll while away 
'Mid gentle twilight and celestial day. 



CAPTAIN JOUN BARKER. 93 



TO THE WIDOWED MOTHER. 

Time mountains made and mountains shall decay. 

So .sorrows last, but joy it fiits away ; 

Earth has no prox}^ can repair th}^ loss, 

'Tis Heaven alone extends the bleeding cross. 



IS LIFE TOO SHORT? 

If we reckon that our life is too short 
Then useless pleasures are too dearly bought, 
'Tis pleasure makes tlie time too swiftly fly 
And time is lengthened out \)'j industry. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE DAUGHTERS OF 
CAPTAIN JOHN BARKER. 

Written on seeing the parents weep over their graves. 
FROM THE DEAD TO THE LIVING. 

Otjr dear parents, will ye ever weep, 

Why with your tears our new-made graves ye 

steep ? 
Think ye your sighs do not disturb our rest ? 
They do not slumber that's forever blest, 



94 CAPTAiy JOHN BARKER. 

But the freed spirits seek the realms on high 
And smile on earth amidst their buoyant sky. 
Yet all (k'lightless is that solemn view 
01' Iriends that's parting from the friends that's 

true. 
And swift as spirits mount their realms on high, 
So swift to heaven does pass the secret sigh, 
All other earthly cares do death destroy 
'Tis this alone disturbs our heavenly joy. 
Eternal bliss sheds forth her radiant beams, 
And life that's past seems but life's troubled 

dreams. 
Joy, heaped on joy, unwearied seeks no rest, 
'Tis half the blessing to see so many blest. 
One mighty mass ai'e we collectively, 
Yet each within themselves may separate l)e, 
Each having joys that's separate from the rest, 
Yet in these joys the mighty mass is blest. 
Nor all the joys with you on earth that dwell, 
Could not match Martha's meeting Isabel. 
Now this we send that you may cease your 

sighs. 
And dry the tear-worn channels of your eyes ; 
For we have now ex[)lored that unknown 

road, 
And joined our fathers in their blest abode ; 
And thus it is why mortals dread to die, 
Drear is the path and long is eternity. 



ON SITTING UP WITH JACOB BOBINE. 95 

The reason why you dread your destined fate, 
None knows the doom that on him does await; 
But be assured they have no cause to mourn 
Who leaves that port for the eternal bourne. 



ON SITTING UP WITH JACOB BODINE. 

IIoAv solemn all, in sadness how serene, 

The lurid lamp siiines gloomy o'er the scene, 

Its morbid rays a cheerless influence sheds 

As though the darkness from tliat light was 

spread. 
Though all is still no quiet's in the gloom, 
No peace in })rospect, save what's in the tomb; 
He pays the debt from which no one can flee, 
The awful debt of man's inconstancy ; 
For though he pants beneath the stroke of death, 
The envious conqueror envies every breath. 
He like a patriot though to fate would yield, 
Craves a moment till lie has gained the field ; 
Fain would he stay 'till the good fight is o'er. 
Then launch adventurous for the unknown shore. 
Close at his side a watchful daughter sat. 
Oppressed with care, seemed yielding up to fate; 
Melancholy clouded that lavely daughter. 
Like mist that hangs o'er the face of the water. 



96 ON SITTING UP WITH JACOB BODINE. 

Her head reclining on a pillow lay, 

Now closed are those eyes, now shed they a ray. 

Those lucid black eyes shone on that pillow 

Like a sunbeam bright on a rolling billow, 

Kow tossing on high it shines o'er the wave, 

Now sinking below in the waters to lave, 

She has watched him till watching has ceased to 

relieve, 
She has mourned till mournino^ no lonwr can 

grieve, 
She has watched and mourned till her sorrows 

are drownd, 
And her vigil has ended in sleeping profound. 
Like a star that has watched o'er a gathering 

storm. 
Now gathered, is veiled in her silence to mourn, 
The silence was broken as the father gazed round. 
His voice proved him living yet it had a death 

sound ; 
He spoke of the narrow house and the peace that 

was there, 
But he mourned for his children and the stripes 

they must bear. 
Begone, they will cry, with a curse on their head, 
Begone, thou intruder, thy father is dead ! 
Then he asked if I thought his time had now 

came, 
If I ever saw so weak a man recover again. 



ON SITTING UP WITH JACOB BODINE. 97 

I answered him calmly, though I scarce hid the 

sigh, 
They tell me who knew thee thy fate seemed as 

nigh, 
That thy soul it seemed trembling on the verge 

of the grave. 
And the arm that then saved thee is still able to 

sav^e ; 
Then a light gleam o'er his countenance flies, 
It lives but a moment, it sickens and dies ; 
It cheers but a moment, for short is that reign 
Of joy, or of hope, that is built upon pain ; 
His hope and his murmurs have yielded to pain, 
And sorrow and silence are reio^nino- ao^ain ; 
Yet his spirit still lingers it still warms the 

clay, 
But the least blast from death shall blow it 

away. 
The softest winged arrow that descends from 

above 
Shall bear it aw^ay to the mansions of love. 

7 



98 HYMN. 



HYMN. 

Written on hearing a Missionary Sermon Preached by Dr. 
James Broicnley. 



Come, Holy Spirit, with all thy power, 

Kot us alone that crave, 
All earth is thirsting for the shower 

And all we'd have thee save. 

Come, Advent season, longed-for hour 
When war and crime sliall cease, 

When none resist the omniscient power 
And all will dwell in peace. 

When earth's remotest corners ringf 
With our Redeemer's praise, 

And every breeze that blows shall bring 
Glad tidings of His orace. 

Then, Christians, onward be thy toil, 
Till heaven and earth shall see 

Heathen, Tiii'k, and Jew all join 
In one fraternity. 



133i2I> PSALM. 99 



PSALM 42. 

" As the hart pantetli after the water brooks, so panteth 
my soul after thee, O God." 

As when, pursued his native woods around, 
The trembling hart tlies from tlie insulting hound, 
He seeks to find the livinn* brook once more. 
And lave his weary limbs on the refreshing shore. 
Thus when pursued by woes and earthly care 
My foes press on to drive me to despair ; 
Drunk with success they cry, " Where is thy God ? 
Smite with thy faith, call down His chastening 

rod!" 
My weary soul, tired of this earthly pain 
Still seeks in faith that joy in heaven it hopes to 

gain. 



133KD PSALM. 

Behold how pleasant to see, 
Brothers dwell in unity ; 
Like the ointment on the head 
That ran down on Aaron's beard 



L «fO, 



100 PE. 

And into its precious flow, 
Reached his garment's skirts below ; 
As the dew upon Hermon, 
Or the dew of Mount Zion — 
There the Lord His blessings pour 
Even life forevermore. 



PE. 



My faith I constantly will keep, 
Because I find thy truth is sweet; 
'Tis light to enter in Thy temple, 
And understanding to the simple. 
I panted till Thy voice I heard, 
And longed to hear Thy mighty w^ord 
Look and be merciful to me 
As Thou usest to those that love thee. 
In righteousness teach me to move, 
And from its path let me not rove — 
Let me not be oppressed by man. 
So that I may Thy precepts scan ; 
Let thy face on Thy servant shine 
So will I keep Thy laws divine — 
Rivers are flowing from mine eyes 
Because Thy statutes they despise. 



A CANTICLE. 101 



VERSIFICATION OF THE 134:TH PSALM. 

Bless ye the Lord, ye servants of Ilis might, 
Who stand in Ilis holy place by night ; 
Lift up your hands and bless the Lord on high. 
From Zion, Him who made the earth and sky. 



A CANTICLE. 

THE SONG OF MOSES. EXODUS XV. VERSIFIED. 
April 3rd, 1899. 

Sing to the Lord, He hath triumphed gloriously : 

The horse and his rider hath He thrown into the 
sea, 

The Lord of my strength and song. He is my sal- 
vation : 

He is my God, I will prepare Him an habitation ; 

He is my father's God, I will exalt His fame. 

The Lord is a man of war, Almighty is His name. 

Pharaoh's chariots and His host He cast into the 
sea : 

His captains all chosen from their fate cannot 
flee. 



102 A CANTICLE. 

The depths have covered them : they sank as a 
stone. 

Thy right hand, O Lord, so glorious in power is 
known : 

Thy right hand, O Lord, hath dashed in pieces the 
enemy, 

And in the greatness and power of Thy excel- 
lency 

Thou hast overthrown them that rose up against 
Thee: 

Thou sendeth forth Thy wrath, consumed they 
cannot flee, 

And with the blast of Thy nostrils the waters leap 

Together, the floods stood upright as an heap. 

And the waters were congeal'd in the heart of 
the deep ; 

The enemy said, I will pursue, overtake, my lust 
enjoy: 

"When satisfied; my sword I'll draw, my hands 
them shall destroy. 

Thou didst blow Thy wind, the sea about them 
hovered : 

They sank down as lead, the mighty waters 
covered. 

Who is like unto Thee, O Lord, among Thy thun- 
ders, 

Glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing won- 
ders ? 



A CANTICLE. 103 

Thou stretchest out Thy right hand, they are con- 
sumed, 

The earth swallows them, they are entombed. 

Thou in mercy led forth the people Thou re- 
deemed : 

Guided to Thy habitation the holy and esteemed. 

And the inhabitants of Palestina shall hear. 

And the land shall be o'erwhelmed with fear : 

Then the duke of Edom shall* be amazed ; 

And the mighty men of Moab, trembling and 
dazed ; 

The inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away. 

Fear and dread shall fall on them, and none to 
stay. 

By the greatness of Thine arm they shall be still 
as a stone ; 

Till the people pass o'er, Thou hast possessed 
Thine own. 

Thou shalt bring them, and plant them in the 
mount by the grace 

Of thine inheritance, which Thou hast made for 
Thy own dwelling place, 

In Thy sanctuary, O Lord, and may we not sever, 

And the Lord, He shall reign for ever and ever. 

For the horse of Pharoah went in with his 
chariot ; 

And the horsemen and Pharaoh shared the same 
lot. 



104 AN ELEGY ON A POOR MAN. 

For the Lord brought again the waters of the 

sea, 
But the children of Israel on the dry land went 

free. 



FROM THE 29TH PSALM. 

• 

Come give unto the Lord, O je of might. 
To strength and glory He has all the right, 
Give to the Lord the glory due His name, 
Worship the Lord with beauty's holy flame, 
The mighty God of Glory's heard afar. 
His thundering voice the elements do mar, 
The waters by His voice their course maintain, 
A voice extended as the rolling main. 



AN ELEGY ON A TOOK MAK 

They are tears sincere that o'er his tomb are 
shed, 
No wealth but toil whilst here he did control ; 
But now he is wealthier than the wealthiest 
dead. 
The curse of riches rests not on his soul. 



THE DREAM. 105 



THE DREAM. 



I DREAMT that I was crossed in love 

A proud yet heavenly fair, 
Had taught rae that my suit was vain, 

And driven me to despair. 

Reeling from the bloody deed 

A desperate suicide, 
The spirit freed from earth it bounds 

Through distant realms to glide. 

Then swift along the heavenly spheres, 

I strode from star to star, 
Nor deemed the heavenly path too bright, 

Nor thought the strides too far. 

I passed Orion, raging God, 

Who still pursues in vain, 
The six bright nymphs of purest flame 

And one of mortal stain. 

I passed beyond our stellar round 
Through many a starry sphere, 

"Where orbs unknown to earth abound, 
And suns as bright appear. 



106 THE DREAM. 

Then looking back to take one glance 
"Where friends I left were few, 

Ah ! vision false 'tis strange to tell, 
Though then it seemed so true. 

Ah ! strange it was the earth seemed lost 
In one the earth might claim. 

But ah ! that name I must not tell 
That eclipsed the earth with flame. 

Nor shone earth like a halo round, 
But seemed a darkened zone, 

The fading sun at distance frowned 
All unnoticed and alone. 

Not Canis Major's glittering star 
Could boast in heaven a purer name. 

Or Aldebaran shining afar. 

Than she that fanned my bosom's flame. 

But now my feasting eyes are turned, 

Sweet music fills my ears, 
And floating soft on silvery clouds, 

A heavenly throng appears. 

A glittering star on a shining car 

Did Newton's light display, 
"With equal clearness near and far 

To guide their heavenly way. 



THE DREAM. 107 

First Homer blind, and Pindar proud, 

And Ossian king of song, 
And Maro sniootli, and Milton learned, 

And Byron came along. 

Then Shakespeare, first of mortal men, 
The gathered passions round him crowd 

Love, hate, and env^y, worshipped then 
And owned their master in the cloud. 

And bright upon a silvery cloud 

There came a brilliant trio, 
'Twas Dante sweet, and Petrarch sad, 

And Michael Angel o. 

And these were of the vocal choir, 

Then came a minstrel throng, 
Some skilled in verse to tune the lyre. 

And some the lyre alone. 

Latona's son and Pan were there 

And Orpheus tuned the lyre, 
Thamyris, and Demodocus, 

And David filled the choir. 

Ten thousand thousand smaller bards, 

All helped to swell the song. 
Oh ! how I wished for vocal power 

To mingle witii that throne; ! 



108 AN INVITATION. 

Thus brio^ht around the vision burned 

In vision's brightest day, 
But Sol he burned, the vision turned 

And truth poured in a ray. 

I awoke and found myself alive, 

Rejoicing still to be ; 
And willing still to live for one, 

That will not live for me. 



AN INVITATION. 

Come, Mary, let's go down to the sea. 
For now the vast waters are at rest. 

Old Neptune has fallen asleep 

And the halcyon is building her nest. 

Come, Mary, come, let us away. 

O'er the face of the gay spangled deep , 

The porpoise may carelessly play. 

And the sailor his hammock may keep. 

Our vessel may ride o'er the main 
Secure as the olive-branch dove, 

And return you to your dove-cot again 
With a heart full of friendship and love. 



A VALENTINE. 



And when our white sails shall return, 
And you with your kindred shall be; 

Thy beauty shall gladden all round, 
Like Yen us come out of the sea. 



A VALENTINE. 

February 14, 1849. 

Rising from a bed of pain, 
With feeble hand and feebler strain, 
With trembling pen that scarce can write, 
This short epistle will indite. 

This winter rose receive from me. 
Emblem of sadness, and love for thee. 
But " hope the charmer *" Avill not blast 
The future prospects with the past. 

But soon as verdure glads the pain, 
To health and strength restored again, 
Tuned full high to thought that's gay 
Pour forth many a roundelay. 

Then sing, ye little songsters gay, 
Nor wait ye for my laggard lay. 
But charm ye each those mates of thine, 
And leave me to my Yalentine. 



110 'lUE DYISG DUUyKARD. 



TO MISS IRENE. 

The other day, Miss Irene, 
You accused me of being green ; 
Whilst others say that I am shallow 
For loving one that is so yellow ; 
Blend the colors and they are blue. 
An emblem of the heart that's true. 



THE DYIXG DRUNKAED. 

The lightnings flash, the thunder roars, 
The drenching rain a deluge pours ; 
But harms no more the drunkard's den, 
He has passed the range of mortal ken. 

Fainting, expiring and alone, . 
None know his pain, or hear his groan ; 
Oh, thinks he of a second birth. 
Who only lived to trouble earth? 

All that were his have gone before, 
He lives to see their troubles o'er ; 
But still he sought that cursed bowl 
That wrecked his home, to drown his soul. 



TEE BRAVE ARE NOT FORGOTTEN. Ill 

Oh, be some guardian spirit by, 
To guide that spark that ne'er can die; 
Nourish, instruct it, and prepare, 
And be that soul thy guardian care. 



A TEMPERANCE HYMN. 

Would ye give your Maker pain, 
And crucify your God again ? 
With poisoned blood disease your race, 
And every earthly act disgrace ? 

If ye would destruction shun. 
And glorify your Maker's Son, 
'Tis Temperance alone can gain 
His filial love, and quiet reign. 

Then seek virtue for your bride. 
And take the virgin to your side ; 
Seek with her a heavenly rest, 
And be with her forever blest. 



THE BRAYE ARE NOT FORGOTTEN. 

Enough of fame will pay the freeman's toil. 

The laurel grows where'er it linds a soil. 

And round his grave though humble Avhen it's 

found, 
All that is heard must have a hallow'd sound, 



112 THE BESULT OF THE ELECTION. 



OH ! BUKY ME MID THE TKEES I LOYE. 

Oh ! bury me mid my children dear, 
Whiere I toiled with joy and with pain ; 
I labored in pain, but cheered on by hope, 
Doubly charmed by beauty and gain. 

Oh ! bury me mid my children dear, 
Though away my spirit has roved ; 
My mouldering body by nature's decree, 
May be part of those trees that I loved. 



WKITTEK ON THE KESULT OF THE 
ELECTION. 

1845. 

Sad are my thoughts for my dear land, 
Destruction hovers o'er her strand ; 
Long shall Columbia rue the day 
That she rejected Henry Clay. 

The rabble shout with maniac joy, 

But silent is the mind that's coy. 

Ah ! they would shout though they could see 

The uplifted veil of misery. 



THE RESULT OF THE ELECTION. 113 

Then shout aloud, ye rabble joy, 
You that the prosperous would destroy, 
Short will be their revelry 
That must bear part the misery. 

Go ask the world of Henry Clay 

Go ask in South America, 

Go ask who aided suffering Greece, 

Go ask who made your Country's peace. 

And how for this has he been paid ? 
He has been beat by foreign aid ; 
The man that checked the foreign brand 
Feels their power in his own land. 

And must we take that desperate band, 
Those filthy scrapings of the land, 
Those sweepings of Columbia soil 
That rather rob than live by toil ? 

We must, we must, the die is cast ! 
Columbia's misery has come at last. 
Oh ! seal mine eyes ye powers above, 
Seal them for the patriot love. 

Philanthropists, I own with shame, 
Though we boast of liberty, 
Half of our broad domain 
Cast their votes for slavery. 



114 THE RESULT OF THE ELECTION. 

(Ye mercenary foreign aid, 
What can ye gain by a free trade ? 
Is it the hope that time will come 
When you can live again at home ?) 

And stronger yet my bosom yearns 
That constant for the patriot burns ; 
Have they reduced our Henry Clay, 
Though all his votes were cast away ? 

Has Cicero's blood disgraced his name 
Or Antony marred Brutus' fame, 
Nor aught that impious man can say 
Defame the name of Henry Clay. 

And now from public strife he'll cease, 
Who sought to guide the helm in peace, 
And loved his country better far 
Than thousands that cry out for war. 

'Mid sweet retirement let him rest. 
And blessings of his country's best 
There calmly wait the destined day 
That calls to Heaven our Henry Clay. 



THE nESCUE. 115 



WKITTEN AT A AVEDDING. 

1840. 

Let's grasp at pleasure in its flight, 
Come on, my joys, away, ye fears ; 

She has sown more mirtli on this gay nio-ht, 
Than all she'll reap in after years. 



THE RESCUE. 

Sfdden he stops his steed, hark ! what's the cry ? 
What the alarm that makes the people fly ? 
'Tis but a pause, then quickly starts his steed. 
The willing courser springs forward at full speed. 
So swiftly moves, so suddenly he bounds. 

He seems to fly or scarcely touch the ground 

And m a moment he is on the dock, 
Where to the cry the crowding people flock ; 
Now he alights, though scarce he checks his speed, 
(Quick to the word stopped the unguided steed) 
Then rushes impetuous where the waters show 
That life's expiring in the realms below. 
Headlong he plunges in the briny deep, 
The parted waters close upon his feet ! 



116 THE BESCUE. 

Then all is still, the mute spectators stand, 
With dewdrop-stillness gazing from the strand. 
In that solemn moment you might have heard 
The faintest chirrup of a callow-bird, 
A pin's light fall upon a marble floor 
"Would break the stillness of that silent shore ; 
All anxious eyes are gazing from the shore, 
And each begins to think he is no more, 
AVhen one the silence broke and thus began : 
"A warning take from this imprudent man — 
You saw how rashly he did seek the deep. 
And now behold him with his fellow sleep." 
N^or had he ceased before his head did ride 
Above the waves, and, laboring 'gainst the tide. 
But soon they do perceive he strives in vain 
To stem the rolling flood, or shore to gain. 
They seize the reins ^vhich then his courser 

wore, 
The well known lines did guide him to the 

shore ; 
To raise him on the dock they now began ; 
Then first they did perceive the rescued man. 
He by the hair the drowning man had grasped 
Who about his w^rist both his hands had clasped. 
He ties the lines so lately cut away 
And mounts his steed and gives him ample sway, 
He fled from thanks where he his succor gave, 
And bound not him he rescued from the grave ; 



HEARING THE RESULT OF MERCER'S TRIAL. 117 

Though wet his garments and his bridle rent, 
He tarried not, but on his journey went ; 
When now the rescued was himself again 
He dimly viewed him on the distant plain. 



WRITTEN ON HEARING THE RESULT OF 
MERCER'S TRIAL. 

Ye virtuous maidens, exalt the fame. 

Of this thy young and bold protector's name ; 

Place it high honored in memory's fame, 

And even let it be an honored name. 

Place on thy banners him with sword in hand, 

And by his side young innocence shall stand. 

Long shall that name admired be 

Who dared chastise the foulest villainy. 

A^irtue dared smile though demonism frowned 

When first she such a bold protector found ; 

(For well she knew 'twould to her maidens yield 

A full protection from his ample shiekl.) 

Henceforth injured innocence shall call 

Upon that name who wrought a villain's fall ; 

And the mean wretch, though on destruction's 

brink. 
From that proud name his coward soul shall 

shrink : 



118 WRITTEN FOli A FBIEND. 

Let those proud names with equal honors be, 
Mercer the chaste, and Mercer of liberty ; 
The laurel wreath which virtue shall prepare 
The avenging Mercer shall forever wear. 
Whilst indignant virtue shall forever shun. 
The neglected ^rave of worthless Ililerton. 



LOZENGES AND PASTE. 

Old Esculapius rejoice again, 

Thy son has reached the pinnacle of fame ; 

Too long thy race in indolence has dwelt, 

And worthless fossil medicine has dealt. 

Till Shirkman rose with paste and lozenges 

Which every Son of science now prefers. 

His years of study have raised deathless fame. 

And with the gods shall be an honored name. 

What pity he with us a name should lack : 

I asked our Ducks, they only answered. Quack. 



WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND, TO ANSWER 
A DOGGEREL SLUR. 

Neolected Poetess, I now discern. 
The boy that does your future state concern ; 
His intellectual countenance does shine 
With traits of well marked genius like thine. 



WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 119 

His full round face is like thy foot, all sole, 
"With features expressive as a stagnant pool, 
His long ashy hair that might an ass disgrace, 
In scattered locks hang o'er his greasy face. 
His little brain must long ago hhve fled. 
But a thick skull protects his feeble head. 
Like feeble fortresses are fortified 
"With thicker walls their want of strength sup- 
plied ; 
His ill-shaped form doth to my mind arise, 
A horrid picture paints before mine eyes ; 
His shapeless bulk let me awhile conceal. 
For why should I the monster here reveal ; 
Enough it is that I alone should know, 
Let others Avait for comic nature's show. 
Suffice to see when time has brought to light 
This hideous loon, this vacant man of night; 
Let's hear no more of thee and tliy friend, 
She who on every meanest action tend, 
Be ceased, let's hear no more the worthless rhyme, 
Kor strive to make two copied verses chime. 
Think not for making rhyme I deem thee wise ; 
Such doggerel trash as thine let all despise — 
Thy coarse collected words a soul denies. 
In sweeter strains than thine the screech owl 
cries. 



120 THE SPIDER FIGHT. 



A LETTER CAEMED BY A CLIENT 
FROM ONE LAWYER TO ANOTHER. 

I HAVE cauglit two fools, my crafty brother, 
You will pick one, and I the other ; 
Both of them in my trap flew. 
The meanest one I send to you, 

lIuNGKY Shyster. 



THE SPIDER FIGHT. 

Why should a poet raise his theme so high 
And constant aim his verses for the sky ? 
Why not sometimes drop a few lines on earth, 
In honor to the place that gave him birth, 
If others won't, then I Avill choose a theme, 
And write about some warriors I have seen. 

Tired of sleep, as on my bed I lay, 
Just as the night was giving way to day, 
A hungry fly, -who, early, left his rest. 
Flew at full speed into a spider's nest ; 
Forth from his hiding place the spider came, 
And with his silken web secured his game. 



OH! ABSALOM. 121 

Nor scarce secured, when forth a neighbor came, 
And with the first he did dispute the game. 
Hard was the fio-ht and anorv^ was each blow. 
Bat soon the first the last did overthrow ; 
Wrapt in one common web the spider and the 

fly,. 

And which was which you scarcely could descry. 

But ere the conqueror has left the place, 
You not an atom of the web miglit trace ; 
He asked no ruined fabric to display 
The toils and struggles of a well fought day. 
Gorged with the ample breakfast he had gained 
Was pay sufficient for the fight maintained. 



OH ! xiBSALOM ! 

Oh ! Absalom, my son ! my son ! 
Would thou had the battle gained 
And o'er Israel thou had reigned ! 
Sooner would I die for thee 
Than have had thee slain for me ! 

Oh ! Absalom, my son ! my son ! 

Thy hair was too long. 

Or the bough was too strong. 



122 THE RUSTIC POET. 



THE KUSTIC rOET. 

Beneath a hill, secluded spot, 

A poet dwells, not in a grout ; 

But in a mean and lowly hut, 

That smoke has painted black as soot ; 

His lowly bed is made of straw, 

And nature formed the earthen floor ; 

A stump his seat, a stump his stand, 

Rudely formed by nature's hand ; 

And not a kettle, not a pot. 

Is seen about that sacred spot. 

The only things he keeps on hand. 

Are those which nature does demand ; 

A conch shell is his only cup, 

And seldom from it takes a sup ; 

For sweeter draught the bard does think, 

Does he receive, who kneels to drink, 

For he was truly nature's child. 

Romantic, artless, rude and wild. 

He for flesh no blood doth spill, 

'Nor for his drink woukl roots distill, 

For he on fruits and berries lives, 

And they are such as nature gives ; 

Luxurious cates cannot please. 

He only loves poetic ease. 



THE GREAT WESTERN. 123 

For he despised all civic love, 
And nature only can adore. 
There does he dwell, contented still 
The sovereign lord of his own will ; 
A satiate and contended mind. 
That like his walks are unconfined. 



OUR REYOLUTIONARY GRAIS^DSIRES. 

Though they were not of high degree, 
Great were their deeds of chivalry, 
In the long strife for liberty. 



OK SEEING THE GREAT WESTERN COM- 
ING UP THE LOWER BAY ON HER 
FIRST TRIP TO THIS COUNTRY. 

(the first steamer.) 

What wonld Ulysses had to tell 
If he upon his voyage to hell. 
Had met with this almighty boat ; 
He had thought all hell had got afloat ; 
And quick would have retraced again. 
His passage o'er the watery main. 



124 PASTORAL. 



A PASTOEAL. 

Let's pass the flitting hours along, 
In gay and sweet pastoral song — 
For mirth and joy to youth belong. 

Then let us in this welcome bower, 

And give to ease the idle hour — 

They are fools who strive to check its power. 

Though ever humble be our lot 
Let's be content with what we've got, 
For wealth knows not the peaceful cot. 

" No gay Alexis of the Grove," 
Shall after come and fondly prove 
That we were born to love. 

Yet when this clay to dust decay. 
And dreaming life has passed away. 
Shall we not sleep as sound as they ? 

Then Agondecy fondly sing, 
AVliilst I the wreaths of roses bring 
And crown thee Flora gentle queen. 



THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 125 

Then pass the flitting hours away, 
In gay and sweet pastoral lay 
And chanting some fond roundelay. 



THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 

Wild it grows and beauteous blows 

The tree of liberty — 
Each mountaineer does hail with cheer 

Himself as wild and free. 

Raise the song of liberty, 

Let the sound arise — 
Rally round thy native tree 

Peal thy notes along the skies. 

Columbia's free-born sons arouse. 

And guard th}^ liberty — 
You must not loose in wild carouse 

Thy father's heaven defended tree. 

Let no crafty one invade 
Nor heed the sirens' sound ; 

Let laurel grow beneath its shade 
And myrtle twine around. 

To dig its soil, its limbs to prune, 

More glories to display, 
'Twill check its sap, its blossoms blast, 

'Twill wither and decay. 



126 LOVE SHOULD BE BECIFBOCAL. 



AN ELEGY O^ A TROUBLESOME PET. 

Poor Puss ! she is dead : 
'Twas a blow on the head, 

Caused the soul, from the body, to sever: 
Pets have but few friends, 
Who whilst living attends. 

But when dead, are forgotten forever. 



LOVE SHOULD BE EECIPROCAL. 

Why for naught do Ave sell 
Those passions that are pure? 

Love should be reciprocal 
And then it will endure. 

They misconstrue the gift of heaven, 
Who sigh upon a barren heart, 

It for a blessing has been given 
And if abused it will depart. 

When a true one's heart you gain, 
Lest its fire should depart ; 

With thy bosom's holy flame, 
Naturalize that heart. 



UENRY CLAY. 127 



When we behold a humid e3'e, 
With placid soft, and genial look, 

Then from those scornful sneers we fly, 
And the proud scoffer is forsook. 



HENRY CLAY. 

Maj/, 1848. 

What makes this o^eneral shout ajrain. 

Why rings that name o'er hill and plain? 

'Tis the spirit's secret power, 

That guides the patriot's perilous hour. 

From every clime it echoes forth. 

From the wide extended north, 

From the southern burning plain, 

Henry Clay is called again. 

From each river, nook, and dell, 

From mountain heights Avhere patriots dwell, 

From the lake's remotest bound, 

All conspire to raise the sound ; 

He comes with justice on his brow, 

Like Cincinnatus from his plough. 

And angry winter's sullen spleen 

Must yield before the vernal scene ; 

The smile of youth is on that brow. 

Where rough armed time has used his plough ; 



J28 TO THOMAS MOORE. 

And joy and mirth is lurking there, 
Though oft oppressed with toil and care ; 
The statesman hears the summons loud, 
He sees the gathering people crowd- 
He loathes to leave his dear Ashland 
To take the public helm in hand. 



SILENCE. 
Writteii at a Party. 

Silence, thou older than the eternal plan, 
Thou wert ere yet the heavens began. 
Thou still hast reign, and still thy reign shall be 
When time is lost in vast eternity. 

Thou honest friend, thou lasting foe 
That secret serves, or waits the secret blow ; 
Death must submit but health may bid thee flee, 
Now I rebel, come, ladies, join with me. 



OUR BEAUTIFUL HOUNDS. 129 



OUR BEAUTIFUL IIOUXDS. 

Our beautiful hounds so agile and fair, 
So docile to learn that the house is their care ; 
So cleanly and proud they own all the grounds ; 
And with a keen vigil they keep up their rounds. 

The beautiful hounds, the joy of our home. 
On their couches contented they seek not to roam ; 
They seek us at times for a fond, loving kiss, 
And a kind, gentle patting is the height of their 
bliss. 

Where are the people, though savage or learned, 
That the dog's faithful service no affection has 

earned; 
In poverty or wealth, so faithful and true ; 
In health or in sickness they will suffer with you. 

So welcome they meet 3"ou, so true and sincere, 
"With a kind, honest heart you have nothing to 

fear ; 
In the chase they will follow o'er mountain and 

bogs, 
And the sure sign of a rogue is the hater of dogs. 



130 TO TUPPER. 



TO LORD BYROK 

Spirit of Lord Byron, my bosom inspire 

With thy strength and sweetness ; l)ut not with 

thy ire. 
My bosom already is burning with rage, 
And this world is too much for man to engage. 



TO FLAYIUS JOSEPIIUS. 

Warrior, priest, historian, and sage. 

Whose works have pleased the learned of every 

ace. 
May thy good spirit on my course attend, 
Be thou my guide, and Heaven shall be my 

friend. 



TO TUPPER. 

May Tupper's labors long the good man tend, 
To nourish virtue and innocence defend, 
Those old wise sayings in that Avork combined, 
Deserves the attention of the studious mind, 
'Twill yield more joy in their lone midnight hours 
Than all the fabled amaranthine bowers. 



A ROSEBUD. 131 



TO THOMSON 



I LOVE the bard who various seasons showed, 
With a like spirit of their tempering God, 
And may such music ever round me ring, 
As when to indolence he turned each string. 



SCOTT. 



The border minstrel marks each lay 
With wild fantastic fantasy 
Nor scarcely has he tuned the strings 
Save when the marvellous he sin^js. 



ON SEEING A ROSEBUD THAT WAS 
BROKEN DOWN BY A IIAIL-STORM. 

The rosebud blasted in the storm. 
For its untimely fate we mourn ; 
But when it withers with decay 
We mourn not tliat it passed away. 



132 THE VIOLET. 



THE GEAPE VINE. 

Accursed vine, pest of our race ! 
Thy cruelties through time we trace, 
Thy stone has killed a bard of yore, 
Thy juice has murdered myriads more. 



THE VIOLET. 

Thotj emblem of Columbia's heir, 

Early blooming soft and fair 

With color of a heavenly hue, 

An emblem of the heart that's true ; 

Thou heedest not the early blast 

That comes with Spring when winter's past, 

And frozen dew and chilly rain 

To blast thy bloom may strive in vain. 

Nor doth thy beauty seem to mind 

The damp and blasting eastern wind, 

But like Columbia's hardy heir 

Ever blooming sweet and fair. 



SWEET IS THE BANQUET OF THE MIND. 133 



SWEET IS THE BANQUET OF THE MIND. 

Sweet is the banquet of the mind, 
"Whether in study's room confined, 
Or loitering through the pathless field, 
Each to the mind sweet nurture yield. 

Full often have I musing stood, 

In some lone solitary wood. 

Or trod the unfrequented way 

"Where the thick boughs obstruct the day. 

There in these rude recesses find, 
A sweet enjoyment for the mind, 
And inly feel such jo\^ as this, 
Is treasured for our heavenly bliss. 

To me no feast is like the mind. 
Though tasteful viands were combined 
The epicures of cates may sing. 
But musing is my banqueting. 



134 A]!f ODK 



AN ODE. 

While sporting on the new made hay 
Little Cupid chanced that way, 
Sporting o'er the flowery meads, 
And now he lags and now he speeds, 
And now he's on the flowery spray, 
And now he's on the fragrant hay ; 
His wings that caught the solar beams, 
Eefluent turned the golden streams ; 
His quiver o'er his shoulder hung, 
His bow in hand for mischief strung. 
He first began his art to try 
Upon a wanton butterfly, 
"When issuing from a cloud, there came 
The queen of love, the laughing dame ; 
AVith witching smile she bade the boy 
To nobler game his shafts employ. 
The ready rogue he seized a dart 
And aimed a blow full at my heart. 
Then as a pencil ray of light, 
The viewless arrow takes its flight ; 
Full in my breast the weapon stood. 
It wounds, it smarts, but draws no blood, 



AMEEICANS TO ARMS, 135 

I sighed, I writhed, I sank with pain, 

Nor thought I e'er shoukl rise again ; 

The villain sought his mother's arras, 

The mother smiled with tenfold charms, 

" Mama," he cried, " I want new game," 

Then kissed the laughter-loving dame ; 

The admiring queen the infant eyed 

And in approving smiles replied ; 

His wings he spread, a glittering flame, 

Then sought those eyes from whence he came ; 

And here my giddy senses veered, 

And in the mist all disappeared. 



AMERICANS, TO ARMS ! 

Americans, assert a cause so just ! 

Cling to the honors of thy father's shades ! 
Thou hast lied to freedom and betrayed her trust, 

Thou owest the debt that honor should have paid. 

Knowest thou the debt that sons forever owe, 
To long dead soldiers who for freedom fought? 

Knowest thou thy glories are an empty boast, 
When all thou claimest thy fathers' blood has 
bought ? 



136 AMERICANS, TO ARMS! 

In slothful ease thus did our fathers, rise ? 

ISTo ! with their blood their liberty they sealed ; 
They taught the stubborn Briton how to yield, 

And changed the hue of many a dark brown 
field. 

Shall freedom's sons to freedom's cries be deaf ? 

Shall your brave brothers call for aid in vain ? 
Are they a prey to ruthless chieftains left, 

And you in ease and luxury mock their pain ? 

Shall gallant Ringold wake compassion's tear 
And murdered Clay arouse no vengeful ire ? 

Shall kind compassion soften into fear. 
And vengeance just provoke no patriot fire? 

Go seek the couch where the soft Persian slept, 
The tempting couch the valiant Grecian tries. 

The conquering Eoman rich upon it crept ; 
The Goddess wept, and weeping from them flies. 



THE ALIEN OF EBIN. 137 



THE ALIEN OF ERIK 

It was written during the Irish famine of 1848. As I was 
driving on tlie country road in my farm wagon, I 
picked up and took in my wagon a miserable, forlorn 
looking young Irishman. And this the tale of distress 
he told me. And with my muse put it to verse. 

A POOR lorn alien in a far distant country, 
Bewails the sad plight of his relatives' home ; 

He moans o'er the famine and pestilence raging, 
The hard bitter causes that forced him to 
roam, 

No more shall gay fancy paint scenes bright and 
cheering — 

Those gay happy scenes, to life so endearing — 

Pale ghastly ghosts and faint famine fearing, 
Chill memory is faded mid scenes so forlorn. 

No more shall sleep's pleasing fancy attend 
thee. 
Thy brothers' pale ghosts shall rise from their 
tombs. 
Thy sisters still living, in life still more dreary 
And their faint suffering offspring have sum- 
moned thee home I 



138 THE POLE'S DREAM. 

Adieu ! the fond scenes of life's pleasing fancy, 
Adieu ! to the hope that e'er can enhance thee. 
Adieu ! to affections since death chiiras my Nancy, 
But welcome the hour when fate seals my 
doom. 

And now he breaks forth in strains sad but 
cheering, 
Oh ! why do I wail o'er the sorrow tliat's past, 

There's a last gleam of hope to the patriot en- 
dearing, 
That oppression and tyranny not always can 
last ; 

But through the dark cloud of melancholy gleam- 
ing, 

A bright star is most brilliantly beaming, 

'Tis Erin ! that long in oppression was teeming, 
Now happy are her sons, and her sires cease 
to mourn. 



THE POLE'S DREAM. 

I dreamed of my country, I dreamed of her woes, 
I dreamed she was surrounded ])y numerous foes, 
I dreamed she was figliting u]')on a l)road plain, 
And I thought her oppressors the battle would 
gain, 



THE POLE'S DREAM. 139 

I saw her surrounded on every side, 

By foenien triuinj)Iiant wherever they ride, 

Though hopeless their fighting yet none ot them 

fled. 
And fast were the numbers increased of the dead. 
Oh ! my Country, I cried, and raised up my eyes; 
When a cloud on the horizon seemed to arise. 
It seemed like a cloud that was rising to warn 
The world that there was fast approaching a 

storm ; 
Though dark was that cloud, 3^et it had a bright 

tinge,— 
A dark rolling cloud with a silverv fringe ! 
But soon I perceived as I viewed it again. 
It was not in heaven, but it rolled on the plain. 
Then with joy I beheld they were waving their 

spears, 
And heaven was filled with their shouts and their 

cheers — 
But my countrymen still did not them espy, 
Or else they were wearied too much to reply ; 
Their foes as regardless of the coming power 
Did suddenly feel an iron tempest shower; 
Now as they advance in thick and firm array 
Russia and Prussia everywhere gave way. 
Through Poland's ranks is heard the joyful cry, 



140 THE HOTTEST SUN. 

The battle's gained ! the Russ they fly ! they fly ! 
Through the Jong lines the shouts of victory 

flies, 
The joyful sound reverberates from the skies ; 
The wounded and dying have forgot their pain, 
And join the shout — Poland shall live again ! 
And here I wake, the joy too much for me, 
And as I waked I shouted, Victory ! 



BE FRUGAL, YE POLES. 

Be frugal, ye Poles, and waste not your toil 
"Whom Heaven has given an ample store, 

But keep it for the foes to spoil 

That have oppressed your country sore. 



THE HOTTEST SUN. 

The hottest sun that ever shone 
Beneath the torrid's burning zone. 
Can never warm the human breast, 
If not of liberty possessed. 



THE WARNING, 141 



WELL TEMPERED STEEL. 

Well tempered steel, in broadsword shape, 
Or iron cast in moulds of grape, 
Can more of freedom's gifts obtain 
Than all the gold that misers claim. 



THE WARNING. 

Away from the south, away let me flee; 

The land of the south is no land for me, 

The land where they smile at the cruellest deed. 

Away from the south, away let me speed ; 

The land where there's slaves, the land of the 

sun. 
The land of oppression I ever will shun. 
Laugh'st thou for joy let oppression beguile, 
For Heaven has treasured a tear for each smile ; 
A dark stormy cloud has Heaven sent forth, 
Already that cloud appears in the north,— 
A cloud that brings an invincible band, 
To rush like a tempest over thy land ; 



142 TO LIBERTY. 

Then freedom succeeds when t^^rants are gone, 
The brightness of liberty o'er thee shall dawn ; 
The sunshine of freedom to thee shall be given, 
The only true joy that descendeth from heaven. 



TO LIBERTY. 

Genius of liberty, awaken their souls ! 
Let the giants of freedom rush from their strong- 
holds ! 
Ye that would be free, join in the fights, 
That tyrants may learn that men know their 

rights. 
Ye far distant nations, come join in the war 
And Poland will follow if you go before ; 
Oppressed and trampled her spirit is broke, 
And her neck is borne down with the weight of 

her yoke. 
Ye nations, pour in your terrible force 
Of men upon foot and men upon horse ; 
In a cause that is just your banners display. 
In the strength of your numbers sweep oppres- 
sion away ; 
You'll cheer their sunk spirits as you sweep o'er 

the plain. 
Then they will join you like soldiers their free^ 
^om to gain. 



RISE, PATRIOTS, RISE! 143 

Then Poland once moi-e of her freedom shall 

boast, 
And oppressors shall either be scattered or lost. 
With a palm on his l)r<)\v shall the patriot rest, 
And the laurel and myrtle crown liberty's crest; 
When ages shall bless thee for aid thou hast 

given 
The joy of your spirits shall brighten all heaven, 



EISE, PATRIOTS, RISE! 

Rise, patriots, rise in every land ! 

And patriots lend a helping hand. 

Let tyrants that's to tyrants true, 

Know freemen are united too ; 

The heart's high pulse, the melting tear, 

Won't check the tyrant's mad career ; 

The only check the wretclies know. 

Is freemen's truest, deacUiest blow. 

Though clouds may veil the heavens awhile, 

Forbidding Sol on earth to smile, 

Yet nature, that's forever true, 

Draws good from good, and evil too. 

Think not the rains that wash the sand 

Can drive the fatness from the land ; 

But o'er the warfare of the storm. 

Shall rear a goodlier, stouter form, 



144 RISE, PATRIOTS, RISE! 

Ruin and war awhile may check, 

But worth and valor cannot wreck; 

The blood that fats a suffering land 

Shall rear again a stronger band ; 

The land that raised a chief so true 

Can raise a band to follow too. 

That band must prove itself as true, 

And know and feel its duty too ; 

Heaven string their arm ! and will prepare 

To lay the tN'rant's bosom bare ; 

The wnntry storm must pass away 

Before the sun can shed a ray. 

Another cloud must burst again 

To rend the sky and drench the plain ; 

The lightning of that vivid flash 

Shall bury tyrants in its crash. 

The shades of mighty heroes slain 

Shall catch the fire and spread its flame ; 

The echo of its thundering roll 

Shall rend the eartl^ from pole to pole ; 

Vengeance with war shall flood the plain, 

The groaning mountains feel the pain. 

Then tlirough the chasm will pour the sun, 

And all the din of war is done ; 

Minerva to their aid shall run. 

And drive the war cloud's rolling dun. 

Peace like a charm shall glad the plain, 

And Hungary shall be free again. 



THE SQUALL. 145 



TO IRISHMEN. 

You that have lived in a land that is free, 
Go help your countr^nnen get liberty ; 
Though you should be sacrificed in the strife 
Yoa pay your country what you owe her, your 

life. 
And why should you so ignobly crave 
That loan that your country so generously gave? 
Arise in your strength, let cowards see. 
Though they may live slaves, that you will be free. 



THE SQUALL. 

The lowering clouds in dark'ning tempest spreads, 
And threatens vengeance on our guilty heads ; 
Tlie lowly herds the awful storm foresee. 
And from its wrath by instinct wisely flee. 
'Tis man alone, conceited, bravely wise. 
He breasts the storm ; or when too late he flies; 
On a frail plank to threat'ning fate how blind, 
To meet the storm, and leave the shore behind ; 
Light souls compelled by ruling destiny ; 
For one that would, its vengeance cannot flee, 

lO 



146 THE SQUALL. 

The storm-tried sailors shrink not at her fears, 
Nor yield to beauty (loveliest in her tears). 
In vain she weeps, in vain expresses her fear, 
The women cheered her, and the sailors jeer : 
The wind deceives them with a favoring gale. 
They cast their lines, and spread forth every sail ; 
When all adverse, with one tremendous burst, 
O'erwhelmed by waves, and all their joy reversed, 
So charged with wrath the maddened tempest 

flies ; 
Veiled in deep blackness, swallowed up their cries, 
While mortals frightened, shrinking from the 

sight. 
The winds rush by in frantic mad delight. 
When all is calm, the sighing zephyrs lave 
But find no relic o'er the weeping wave, 
KoU on ye waves, ye are guiltless of a crime ; 
Roll while ye may, ere swallowed up by time, 
To-day are spent and all their labor vain, 
Till the loud cannon summon'd them again ; 
They all obey ; and funeral honors paid 
All but the body of the lovely maid : 
Perhaps like him, who more than mortals blessed. 
Mounted the wind and left his friend a vest, 
She mounts the storm and triumphs in the blow 
And casts her mantle on the waves below. 



ALAS! FOR POOR POLAND. 147 



ALAS! FOR POOR POLAND! 

Alas for poor Poland, thy woes are unnumbered, 

Scattered from Columbia to Siberia's shore ; 
Oh ! ne'er were such woes on a nation encum- 
bered 
Such oppression and tyranny ne'er heard of be- 
fore. 
Genius of Liberty, where art thou keeping, — 

Hast thou been slumbering on Columbia shore ? 
Arouse from thy nest, and no more be thou sleep- 
ing, 
But fly unto the land where oppression is sore. 

Arise, thou proud champion, mount on th}^ pin- 
ions, 
Rise, and fly to the land of the brave and the 
few ; — 
The land oppressed by mercenary millions — 

Haste, and give that support to the patriot due ; 

Ye Poles that are scattered in far distant nations. 

By cruel oppression from your homes have been 

cast, 

At the first alarm, rush to your country's salvation, 

Though sore be your battles, you shall conquer 

at last. 



148 ALAS! FOR POOR POLAND. 

Ye liberators bow long will ye dormant lay, 
And let tbe oppressors bold tbeir unrigbteous 
sway? 
How long sball Europe's free-born sons in Asia 
toil, 
And Afric's sons be bound upon Columbia's 
soil? 
Rise in your strength, your mighty influence 
use, 
And let no more the tyrant brute, the man 
abuse — 
Proclaim that all are free and draw the northern 
sword, 
And aloud to Heaven declare for freedom's 
lord. 
And fast as the glad tidings spread from sea to 
sea. 
Their chains they'll cast away, and every man 
be free. 

And you, ignoble slaves, are much to blame, 

Too willingly you wear 3'our master's chain ; 

Too willingly obey your master's word, 

And leave neglected mighty freedom's sword! 

The noble eagle will not live a slave ; 

For next to freedom, he does hold the grave : 

'Tis better far to live a moment free, 

Than an eternal life of slavery. 



WITH A SICK FRIEND. 149 

You that are slaves for length of years, 
Do you not long to see them pass ? 

Then you that are forever bound, 
Do you not know death is the last ? 



WllITTEK WHILST SITTING UP WITH A 
SICK FRIEND. (JOHN JONES.) 

Behold ho\v slow life's current ebbs away, 
And lingering still cleaves to its gathered clay. 
Stretched on his bed, a living form of death. 
Feebly he groans, and sudden draws his breath, 
And many times his watchers hear with pain, 
Murmuring talk from a delirious brain. 
Eager they listen, with the hope to gain 
The subject that does most torment his brain ; 
Sometimes at toil his laboring mind will stray 
And full as often says. Away ! away ! 
So faint he is they think his sun just set, 
But still he lives, and still he feebler gets, 
And yet he lives and yet 'gainst death can toil. 
So faint a light requires but little oil ; 
But, alas ! such life as now he lives 
No comfort to himself nor others gives, 
When he shall yield beneath the conqueror's 

power. 
His friends will hail the time a welcome hour. 



150 THE DEATH OF GEN. W. B. BARRISOm 

And is the sufferer dead ? He is gone. 

Few are the relatives he has left to mourn ; 

He long had borne 'gainst pains and keenest 

smart, 
At length the victor pierced a vital part. 
Much had he borne ere he resigned to death, 
Then like a hero yielded up his breath. 
Short and bitter was that life 
Since heaven had called away iiis wife; 
But unto thee she has been kind 
And has not left thee long behind, 
The soul has sought its better part. 
For realms of love it did depart — 
Those peaceful realms where it shall reign 
Free from every earthly pain. 



ON THE DEATH OF GEN. W. 11. HARRI- 
SON, 1841. 

CoxuMBiA weep, for from thee 1k\s been torn, 
The noblest gem that did thy l^row adorn! 
Ye sons of freedom weep, thy wound is sore. 
For thy loved Magistrate is now no more, 
The noble chief whom virtue did inspire 
"With all the merit of his honest sire. 
The statesman who in our first council shone, 
The noble father of a noble son. 



SITTING UP WITH A DEAD FRIEND. * 151 

Great is our loss, is the whole nation's cry, 
We mourn a loss we never can supply, 
lie every labor shared, and danirer faced 
Like Alexander o'er Gedrosia's waste: 
His labor is o'er, he has met his doom, 
For he is gathered to his father's tomb. 
Ohio shall mourn for her hero so brave, 
And the buckeye shall blossom o'er Harrison's 
grave. 



WRITTEN WHILST SITTING UP WITH A 
DEAD FRIEND. 

To man alone the faith is given 

That teaches him that friends shall meet in 

heaven : 
On us alone the fancy crowds. 
To meet departed friends beyond the clouds — 
And this alone our spirit cheers, 
Our friends once more in brighter life appears ; 
A truth which fancy can't despise. 
That we shall meet again bevond the skies — 
To seek that truth alone 'twas given 
That it might teach us we were born for heaven. 



152 TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES ADAMS. 



DID EYEE LOFTY THOUGHT ARISE. 

Did ever lofty thought arise 

In any breast beneath the skies 

But some there were that woukl despise. 



TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES ADAMS. 

My gentle cousin, thou art early gone, 
Thy days were numbered ere mine had begun. 
Oh ! had thou been to transmigration free. 
And that thy change had been from thee to me, 
Then of noblest spirit I'd been possessed. 
Bold, generous, free, with ever}^ virtue blest 
Or had to thee a different fate been given — 
More time on earth had left enough for heaven 
Then had thy wit and virtue given to birth 
Full many an act that now lies hid from earth. 

Thou mightst have reached that pinnacle of fame 
AVhere worth and virtue hold eternal reign; 
But why this theme ? 'tis weak impiety — 
Fate's course is free, and dark is eternity. 
"We must submit though hard it seems to brook, 
Time proves the justice of the Almighty yoke. 



TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY EIRKE WHITE. 153 



DANIEL PELTON, BOEN JANT. 17, 1818. 

Had January never been, 

I bad escaped my toil and trouble ; 

For first it came to give me birth, 
And since to make my sorrow double. 



TO THE MEMOEY OF HENRY KIRKE 
WHITE. 

At earl}' dawn a rosebud blew. 
Its fragrance filled the air around ; 

An envious insect on it flew, 

It drooped and fell upon the ground. 

Though lost to life it grew to fame, 
Its branches filled the space around ; 

The sighing winds that through it came, ~ 
Bore on their wings a mournful sound. 

His spirit will forever live, 

Though his body must decay ; 
That naught but pain for life can give, 

'Tis but a cumbrous load of clay. 



154 ON THE DEATH OF GEN. NABCISO LOPEZ. 



HENEY KIKKE WHITE. 

KiRKE White, thou brilliant star upon the bleed- 
ing cross ; 

Thy works were just enough to make us feel thy 
loss ; 

Thy ceaseless toil for fame to dire disease gave 
sway, 

And nursed the canker-worm that gnawed life's 
strings away. 



ON THE DEATH OF GEN. NARCTSO LOPEZ, 
1851, THE PATRIOT OF CUBA. 

And is the cry that valor's fled, 
That the last spark of freedom's dead. 
That blood rusts where the helmet shone, 
And the last blast of fame has blown. 

Think not because Lopez is low, 
And Chitendon has felt the blow ; 
The eagle screaming o'er their gore. 
Shall myriads call to free the shore, 



THE SQUALL. 155 

Columbia's dear devoted band, 
Patriots of the heart and hand, 
Iron-armed, and bosoms true, 
Freedom lives for such as you. 



THE POOR BARD. 

Sometimes a farmer, and sometimes a cobbler, 

Sometimes a poet, and sometimes a hobbler, 

I go hobbling, and singing, ploughing and sow- 

inc 
And can't raise enough to eat while I'm mowing. 



THE SQUALL. 

The morn was clear, the sun arose, 
And onward in his glory shone, 

And kindly in his genial rays, 
As ever sun before was known. 

But dark'ning clouds in gathered might, 
Nor distant peals were heard to warn ; 

They came and burst in wild delight, 
And left us o'er the wreck to mourn. 



156 ABD-UL-AZIZ, THE GOVERyOR. 



Oy THE DEATH OF JOHN SHAUGHXESSY. 

P«x>R, foxv John is dead and irone. 
And be his journey sweet and long ; 
For short his life, and rough the road, 
And down he fell beneath the load. 



ABD-rL-AZIZ. THE GOVEEXOR OR :NnS- 
RULER UF BOSNIA AND HERZEGO- 
VINA FROM 1^61 TO 1S76. 

IVho opened the reins in his arms with scisson and bled 
himself to death. 

MiGRTT Moslem, as thou dieth, 

All thy glory fades away : 
Though in the mausoleum thou lieth, 

And what I a scissors did thee slay. 

A coward hand, and woman's weapon, 
Brought thee to a death of shame ; 

The harem rugs, and couch you lounged on, 
Has clouded all vour earlv fame. 



GARIBALDI. lo< 

Kot thus on Gilboa died the mighty, 

When bv foeraen hardly pressed ; 
The trusty sword, that failed in battle, 
Entered deep his manly breast. 
June 6th. 1876. 



GAPtlBALDI. 

BEATEJ&aribaldi I bravest of the brave, 

Heaven strung thy arm thy bleeding land to 

save; 
I often thought their spirits "were but one, 
The Wallace, Tell, and God-like Washington. 
And still the spirit comes on earth again, 
And still the same assumes a magic name. 
The magic charm infused in every breast. 
The freeman rallies ; tyrants know no rest ; 
From hill to hill you hear the generous cry, 
And grateful pseans ring along the sky. 
To arms I To arms I brave Italy to arms. 
And heavens re-echo with the loud alarms. 
Shall Latin prowess still forever lie, 
And Rome's proud sons be recreant to the cry ; 
Shall Tuscan glory calmly fade away. 
Or Venice, cringing, shun the glorious day ? 
Is there a spot that will not raise the cry, 
Long live the chief ! and longer, Italy ! 



158 WELCOME, KOSSl'TH. 



So the chief of Magyars has come to the \•^.\u\ 
Of tlie brave ami the free an invincible band ; 
All hail to the chief, ye sons of the brave ; 
And the laurel shall flourish o'er each patriot's 

grave. 
The tyrants of Europe, witli their blood bannei's 

streaming. 
Would crush the last spark of liberty beaming ; 
Thev would tread to the dust the proud image of 

'God, 
With the blood that would free them, they would 

fatten the sod. 
But the Goddess of freedom has heard her sons 

crying. 
And spread her broad shield where her brave son 

was flying; 
And beai-s him away through weeping and sigh- 
ing, 
To arm him with vengeance for the dead and the 

dving. 
With the halo of truth, and the bright star of 

freedom. 
The tyrants shall tremble when again he shall 

come ; 



TO liOIiERT B. MiyrUIiN. 159 

And tbe steel of his good sword sliall flash in 

their eyes, 
With a stroke more terrific — it's the flash of the 

skies. 
The dark cloud of tyranny is beginning to wane, 
And the bright star of freedom shall gladden the 

plain. 
The mist of oppression is passing away 
While freedom with sunshine is spreading her 

day. 



TO PwOBERT B. MINTURN. 

"When some dear one the thoughts has long 

confined, 
"The ])en alone can ease the aching mind." 
Thus let me strive my passions to allay, 
And in fond raptures pour my soul away ; 
By easy march thou didst invade my breast, 
And near my heart thou hast a throne possessed; 
The thought of thee I cherish with delight, 
For oft my mind does bring: thee to its siirht. 
Near we abide, yet seldom do we meet, 
But the rare visit meets a hearty greet ; 
Satiate friendship too familiar grown, 
Loses the luster that at first was siiown — 



160 TO ROBERT B. MINTURN. 

Thus the fired pile that sheds too bright a blaze, 
The flame must weaken as the wood decays. 
These are objections that occur to me, 
Nor these alone are keeping me from thee, 
The press of business and the love of home, 
Even friends themselves can seldom tempt to 

roam ; 
"Where'er I go, or where'er the mind can flee, 
Misery stares, the heir of villainy ; 
First pity melts, then various passions turns. 
And rage like fire my tortured bosom burns. 
When sickened at the thought of treachery, 
My soul in fondness gladly turns to thee ; 
If all this world were generous like thee 
The just Creator would more bounteous be. 
But if my friend, tliou deem this flattery given, 
Accuse the muses and the powers of heaven. 
I only write what freely comes to me 
And what in justice does belong to thee. 
Natural friendship in nature's verse receive, 
Nor waste a thought o'er untaught rhyme to 

grieve ; 
Bold truth when spoke the conscience puts at 

ease 
But secret treachery grows by slow degrees ; 
In my first ranks a phice I have fixed for thee. 
And oh ! my friend, by this remember me. 



/ WADNA LEAVE MY BONNIE UAME. IGl 



AN ODE— IMITATION OF ANACREOK 

Fill the goblet, fill it higher, 
Let rosy wine to love inspire, 
For who can then their rage control 
Against the god that's in the bowl. 
With rosy cheeks and dewy eyes 
AVe'll praise the god as round it flies. 
Let Bacchus' gifts inspire the soul, 
And Orpheus' lute the verse control, 
Let Anacreon form the sacred three, 
Then who could from the triad flee. 
Pass the joyous bowl around, 
Still with love and music crowned, 
To quench our thirst, a vain desire. 
And in the fruitless strife expire. 



I WADNA LEAYE MY BONNIE IIAME. 

July 7th, 1895. 

I WADNA leave my bonnie hame. 

For a the warld could give ; 

The hame I toiled for sin' I came 

In this cauld warld to live. 
II 



162 TO MATILDA. 

My cannie wifie will gang a' where, 
And winna stay at bame ; 

She wants to hear the braid sea rair, 
And court the lightning's flame. 

She wants the center still to be 

Of an admiring thrang ; 
The farther sen' mair sonsie she, 

And sweeter swalls the sang. 

Gie me my hame-, my quiet hame, 
With comforts hame can gie ; 

And I'll forego the gaudy show 
Of luxury's turbid sea. 

Sooner than gang the warld around. 
And leave my tutelar god ; 

I'd in the quiet graveyard lie, 
Beueath my aiu green sod. 



TO MATILDA. 

When quiet in thy peaceful home, 
Nor joys, nor smiles, shall tempt to roam ; 
When worUlly cares have left thee free, 
Kemember then, remember me. 



NEW YEAR'S DAY. 163 

"When tempted forth by nature's smiles, 
To sylvan walks, or pathless wilds, 
When hope runs high and all seems glee ; 
Think then, Matilda, think of me. 

But when to peace, or joy inclined, 
Or sacred page or verse sublime ; 
Oh ! then oblivion cloud my verse ! 
Forget me then, my Valentine. 



HOW CAN I BEAR THIS SMOULDERING 
FIRE ? 

How can I bear this smouldering fire, 
Or bid its flame her bosom move ? 

How can I check this strong desire, 
Or tell my Mary that I love ? 

I'll call to aid the tuneful choir, 

And strive with song her heart to gain ; 

I'll trust the Goddess of the lyre, 
Who needs not send a dart in vain. 



NEW YEAR'S DAY. 

Well, its past ! and passed well, 

But ere it comes again 

How much joy shall madden into pain ? 
How many shall not live to tell ? 



lt)4 TO A BLIND GIRL., 



AN ACROSTIC. 

May does gaudy fruit trees plume, 
And June can force the roses bloom ; 
Rich they blossom for a day. 
You may long such blooms display. 

Heaven's best blessings ever on thee tend, 

And earthly charms with heavenly blessing's 

blend. 
Goddess of love, celestial are thy charms 
Equipped secure in coy Diana's arms ; 
Receive thou this from him thy beauty charms. 
Take this a pledge that I am truly thine. 
You reign ray queen, my lovely valentine. 



TO A BLIND GIRL, WHO WAS VERY 
HANDSOME. 

Thy rolling orbs, deprived of sight. 
Have not bereaved thy mind of light ; 
The beauty that thy friends may see. 
May shine on them but not on thee ; 
Such the decree of early date, 
To save thee from Narcissus' fate. 



TO MISS ANNA H. 165 



I HAVE LOYED A THOUSAND DOVES. 

I HAVE loved a thousand doves ; 
Heavenly nymph's and queens of love 
N"or each have had a separate part, 
But all at once possessed my heart. 
N"or breaks m^^ heart, nor is it sore, 
For I could love a thousand more; 
!N"or least amono- the nymphs divine, 
Is my lovely Valentine. 



TO MISS ANKA H. 

Long beguiled by fancy's wiles 
In airy dreams did scan her, 

But far before those ideal forms 
Have I beheld my Anna. 

I sought our fairy island bounds. 
The south, the west, tlie manor, 

Nor thought so near she would appear, 
My lovely, blooming Anna. 



166 TO MISS ANNA H. 

Let bloody warriors love their fame 
And bleed about their banner, 

But for be fame that scourge of earth ; 
My love shall be my Anna. 

If not my love, then be my muse. 

Thy love inspiring, then. 
With bolder hand; I'll tune the lyre 

To the more sacred ten. 

But should my love be crowned with joy, 

Then this shall be my song, 
"Whilst Anna's hand shall tune the lyre 
" And urge the verse along. 

Delighted I'll be 

Nor e'er will be dull, 
While I am believing 
The smiles I'm receiving 

Of the maid of Yon Kull. 

Delighted I'll cull 
The Gardens of Gull, 

And cast at thy shrine, 

An offering divine, 
A rose of Yon Kull. 



I DUEAMED I HAD A DREAM. 167 



TO CATHERmE. 

Caty, for thee I touch the lyre, 

Thy muses do my verse inspire, 

But why should I my passions tell 

Mournfully as Philomel. 

Music should raise the soul on high, 

And bid our melancholy fly. 

Thine has the power of Orplieus' lute 

That held its sway o'er man and brute, 

And sweet thy siren songs we hear, 

As e'er fell on Ul3^sses' ear. 

Sing on, sweet girl, inspire my verse to tell 

To future times the music of the belle. 



I DREAMED I HAD A DREAM. 

Last night I dreamed I had a dream. 

And thought through silent sleep did teem; 

I dreamed I saw a maiden bright, 

Her manners free, her air was light. 

And she possessed a heavenly face 

And form, that might an angel grace ; 



168 TO MISS A. 

Her temper and her grace the same, 

Superior in mind and frame. 

I gazed on her with such delight 

It filled my soul with rapture bright : 

I thought, who could this maid behold 

And not to her his thoughts unfold ; 

I dreamed I wished my dream was true, 

And that this maid I really knew. 

So much had it my mind harassed, 

A thousand pangs came o'er my breast. 

The agitation of my mind 

Could not be long to sleep confined ; 

I waked and found my dream was true, 

And thoughts of night to day had flew, 

And she that goddess of nu' dream 

A maiden was my eyes had seen. 



TO MISS A. 

My dearest friend, let me thy pity move, 
Wliilst I relate to thee the power of love ; 
The lovely maid which thou didst bring to me, 
Has bound my heart, that never can be free ; 
Her beauteous and heavenly form designed 
To make a deep impression on the mind. 
Around her Georgian head the ringlets glow 
And o'er her breast in soft profusion flow. 



LOVE. 169 

That ample breast is roving Cupid's home, 
And from that breast he has no need to roam ; 
From azure eyes he throws his darts around, 
And I, alas ! received a fatal wound. 

Full in my breast its way a weapon found, 
Transfixed my heart and left its mortal wound. 
My bleeding heart with agitation glows 
"Whilst the deep wound my throbbing bosom 

shows. 
Oh ! that mine eyes but once had seen the light, 
And in that light had been this maiden bright, 
Then from that theme my verse had never roved, 
Rivalled by none, but Anacreon loved. 



LOYE. 



They say that love is from the sky, 
That love with mortals cannot die ; 

If earth's frail love e'er reached the sky. 
The heavens with love took many a lie. 

Love is but an earth-born flame. 
Low of birth, but high in fame ; 
Its meteor-lights are fair to see. 
And, like meteors, flash and flee. 



170 ON PRESENTING A LADY. 

They paint love bright as the rainbow, 
But, like it, 'tis an empty show ; 
They tell us gentle love will rove, 
But who can catch a roving clove ? 

Let friendship be our only guide. 
Swift glides the bark before the tide. 
The willing hehnsman and the wind 
Fast leave the sinking shores behind. 

When folly bids us court the adverse wind, 
Our useless sails but drive our bark behind ; 
When wrecked at length upon a leeward shore 
The mocking sighs contemptuous o'er us roar. 



ON PRESENTING A LADY WITH A 
JEWELED HEART. 

Don't mistake this for a heart, 

This k a thing that can be bought ; 

Never with life it had a part. 

By handy workman it was wrought. 

Not so the heart that warms ray breast, 
And burns with fear, that hope is vain, 

Wearied still, deprived of rest, 
For you alone can ease my pain. 



TO SPUING. 171 



TO SPRING. 

Thou blooming season of my early choice, 

Nature rejoices with instinctive voice ; 

The blossoming fruit-trees and the budding vine 

Add their glory to thy power divine. 

The skies rejoice, the sporting clouds do play. 

And, weeping, shed their tears of joy away ; 

The sod-bound earth has changed the gloomy 

scene 
Of snow-Avhite garment for the verdant green ; 
The wild bird's song with music fills the plain, 
In higher notes carol a loftier strain ; 
All that has life thy beauties doth admire. 
And I the feeblest join into the choir ; 
Yet I will praise ; for how can I refrain. 
Though all my song cannot increase thy fame ; 
Thy milder sun, thy pleasing garment green, 
Is ever welcome from the wintry scene. 



172 THE FLORA. 



I'D TAKE YE FROM THAT CLAY-COLD 
PLACE. 

Sweet flower I'd shed a tear for thee, 
A tear for thy captivity ; 
Though thou art gently placed beside 
One that well might be a bride. 

Though both may boast unrivaled grace, 
I'd take ye from that clay-cold place ; 
I'd place thee in some flowery plain, 
Or streamlet side, to bloom again. 



THE FLORA. 
Our small steamboat that ran against George Law. 

But still the Flora breasts the waves, 
Though threatening ice invades the bay ; 

In vain the threatening tempest raves, 
The Flora still pursues her way. 

"With iron gauntlets roughly shod. 

Their last dread champion takes the ring; 

The people still they are not trod, 
But for the Flora proudly sing. 



COLLINS GRAVES' RIDE. 173 

To freeman's toil when heaven's awake, 
No demon threat can keep in awe, 

The tempests are not for the sake, 
Of humbling man to tyrant Law. 



COLLINS GKAYES' EIDE. 

May 18th, 1874, 

Swift rushed a horse adown the dale, 
Now beneath the rider reeling ; 

" Who'll spread the news along the vale ? " 
The gallant rider is pealing. 

Just strength enough that steed possess'd 
To reach one threatened village. 

To warn the people to escape. 
Before the water pillaged. 

For high upon that mountain stream 

The angry waters, lashing, 
Had burst their bounds, a frightful scene. 

And down the vale was dashing. 

Who'll spread the news, the valley save 
From scenes of human slaughter ? 

" I'll spread the news," cried Collins Graves, 
" I'll head the ruthless water." 



174 COLLINS GRAVES' RIDE. 

Swift is that steed, and true that boy 
Shouts, shouts like a hero brave : 

" Kun ! Eun ! the reservoir's right here, 
Life ! Life ! is all that you can save." 

Five minutes he to Skinnerville 
The dreadful torrent led ; 

And still, as phiiiging- down the hill, 
The frightful tidings spread. 

The distance down to ILiydensville, 

By scarce two minutes saves ; 
That precious time saves precious lives, 

O ! Glorious Collins Graves. 

« 
Another hero caught the sound, 

For still liis echo saves ; 
Though scarcely can he save himself, 

The gallant Collins Graves. 

The rider now must change his course; 

Though press'd hard by the waves, 
He sav'd that noble, faithful horse. 

Our noble Collins Graves. 

The rushing waters pass'd along. 
Destroying in their course ; 

But may immortal be in song. 
The rider, and the horse 1 



NATURE ASLEEP. 175 

NATURE ASLEEP. 

May Uth, 1843. 

How still the night ! All nature seems at rest, 
As if of life she'd lately been bereft ; 
Her works alike appear to cease their plan, 
And nature seems to sleep along with man — 
As though she had lived and had her fury spent, 
And seemed transformed into her monument. 
The steady moon through slumbering clouds 

arise, 
And slowly bends her course along the skies. 
The distant brook a murmuring sound does pour, 
The sound seems only sleeping nature's snore. 
The lizard taught into this solemn school 
Is scarcely heard to murmur from his pool. 
The humming Ma3^-bug now the air has left, 
Into the ground he has retired to rest. 
The truant watch-dog now has ceased his bay, 
And with his comrades seeks no more his prey. 
Sweet is the scene where mild the waters flow 
And seems a shade above a world below; 
Here on thy bank in contemplation's glow 
Let me behold thy peaceful waters flow — 
In meditation gazing on the deep, 
The mind awake and nature's part asleep. 



176 TEE CLOVE NEAR SILVER LAKE. 



THE CLOYE NEAE SILVER LAKE. 

'Tis nature's realm, a lovely spot is this, 
Ah, restless man, what beauties do you miss! 
Tlie Avandering spirit, ever bent on moil. 
Nor seek for ease the just reward of toil ; 
Ah, hadst thou here but a lone hour to stay, 
'Twould ease thy toil, and bear much pain away. 
Nor discontent should tempt thy feet to rove, 
But every spot in this enchanting grove 
Presents some scene that nature's child can please. 
And every turf invites to take your ease ; 
Through the tall boughs the scattering rays are 

seen, 
And sighing zephyrs sport amid the green, 
And gentle brooks in pleasing murmurs flow. 
And loving songsters swell the enchanting show. 
The finny tribe above the water seems. 
As their bright scales reflect the golden beams. 
The ruffled lake presents a double show. 
Of nature dancing in the realms below. 
Ah, restless man, unblessed that ne'er to know, 
As nature lives thus gently life might flow. 



TO A BLIND YOUNG LADY. 177 



TO A BLIND YOUNG LADY. 

Favoring Muse, assist me while 1 write 
To a maid whom Heaven deprived of sight — 
To her orbs, to night He has given sway. 
But in her mind He pours eternal day. 
Deprived of vulgar sight, mourn not thy fate. 
But envy blindness of an early date — 
Homer and Milton, both deprived of sight, 
Did both of them receive celestial light ; 
Though sealed their eyes, yet from their minds 

there run 
A light that shed o'er earth a second sun. 
How many eyes are open to the light. 
And yet their doom is to grope through the 

night ! 
From lofty mount where tedious prospects lies, 
In cleft of rock some stinted shrubs arise, 
Nought from its height a benefit receives. 
Inhales no sweetness from the heavenly breeze. 
Between two lofty hills in a rich vale, 
A fertile spot where never reached the gale, 
There in that dark secluded spot is found, 
A fruitful plant that sheds its sweets around. 

12 



ITS GETTING OUT OF A CARRIAGE. 



ON A LADY TEAKIXG HEK DEKSS 
AYIIILST GETTING OUT OF A CAK- 
KIAGE. 

Once more, my Muse, but with a gentler tread, 
Last time thou came thou ahiiost broke m v head ; 
My gentle Muse, be careful in thy mirth. 
Thou do not strike a head that's big with birth. 
Come with a tarilier pace, or tarry. 
Better unborn than lost through a miscarry ; 
Come when thou findest me in merry glee, 
r>ut if thou won't I'll ask no odils of thee, 
For sure I write with half my wits, about 
A lady from my carriage tumbling out : 
So long she took to dress {vain woman's sign), 
To reach the boat she scarcely left us time. 
AVith thoujrhtless hurrv she dismounts the car, 
Nor aught she deemed would there her garments 

mar ; 
When, lo I her garment skirts caught in a hook. 
Headlong she fell, thrown by the unfriendly 

crook ; 
Instantly I raised her up with pious care, 
Nor of the mischief scarcely was aware : 
For in her dress was made an awful rent, 
From heel to waist was the torn garment rent ; 



PRIDE. 179 

When sliamo and rao-o in niingled passions rise, 
jSow tlusliotl lier cheeks, now Ihuning' from her 

eyes ; 
Now would she speak, and now a tear would start, 
AVhen the boat's bell did bid her to depart, 
Quick in her hand she gathered the torn frock, 
Forgets adieu, and hurries from the dock. 
Though I felt part the keenness of her pain, 
Since I lost nought, I'm sure Til not complain. 
Such accidents as this we all must brook, 
For they will hap sometimes, by hook or crook. 



PRIDE. 



A KINGBIRD, flying through the sky, 

Chanced to espy a butterfly, 

And, lowering from his gidtly height. 

On helpless beauty thought to light ; 

His first attempt it proved in vain, 

Again he strove, and missed again ; 

To try again a risk must run, 

That coward tyrants ever shun : 

They trembling shun the chastening hand 

Where worth and valor loves to stand, 

Thus beauty often baffles pride 

When he would place him side by side, 

And kings that value high their throne, 

Oft more in name than deeds have shone. 



180 THE OLD MAID'S CONQUESTS. 

SONG. 
THE OLD MAID'S CONQUESTS. 

I SUPPOSE you think I'm an old maid, 

But 'tis not as it appears ; 
For I have been a young maid, 

For more than twenty years. 

And oft I've had a bleeding heart, 
For I've had many a beau ; 

But the number I don't remember now, 
It was so long ago. 

The first an elderly gentleman, 
AVhose tortured bosom wrung, 

Till he was in the churchyard laid. 
The willow-trees among. 

The next along a young man came, 

But he was rilther slack ; 
I hated to see his foolish face 

Or hear his simple clack. 

And I have had them, many more. 

Or kind o' sorter had ; 
But some I didn't please their mama, 

And some disliked my dad. 



WHO WOULD NOT BE A ROSE-BUG ? 181 

The last I had was very young, 

But he was tall, you know ; 
His mother locked her infant up, 

And so 1 lost my beau. 

If you think me particular, 

And love to gad about, 
Just come and offer me a chance. 

And I will clear your doubt. 

If you think me particular, 
Just brino: vour man alonp; : 

I'd scarcely stop to thank you, sir, 
I'd court the chap so strong. 



WHO WOULD NOT BE A KOSE-BUG ? 

Who would not be a rose-bug. 

And live all day on roses ; 
And enjoy such other pleasures. 

As none but Cupid knows of ? 

How they must pity mortals, 

With their tedious lengthened span ; 

They would not live a moment. 
If they had to live like man. 



182 HOW BE GOT A SEAT— AN OLD STORY. 

Ob, could their time be lengthened, 

x\nd eternity be given, 
Free from all pain be strengthened. 

Their life would seem worth living. 



HOW HE GOT A SEAT— ATT OLD STORY. 

It was on a cold and blustering night. 

About ne \v -years time, if memory serves me 

right, 
A traveler into a tavern came, 
IJis frozen limbs were aching with the pain. 

His longing eyes showed plainly his desire 
To rest his weary limbs before the fire, 
"Where was seated many a rustic clown, 
And the half polished of the country town. 

But -neither the pale nor tlie brandy face 
Offered to give tlie stranger place ; 
Then he says to the landlord, " Tell me can I, 
A lot of oysters for my pony buy ? " 

The landlord answered, " 1 do oysters sell." 
" Then give you my nag a peck in the shell." 
The idea of oysters for his horse's feed 
Did make the tavern loungers stare indeed. 



PRIDE, WITII A MORAL. 183 

When they were taken for the horse to eat, 
They followed after and forgot their seat ; 
"When they the 03'sters to the horse did show, 
He curled his nose and gave a snort or two. 

Then back they went and said : Sir, " your horse 

won't eat." 
" It matters not so long as I have a seat. 

" Bring them to me, and put my horse away, 
Make him a bed and give him oats and hay : 
Remember this whilst I the oysters eat, 
That the next weary traveler wants a seat." 



PRIDE, WITH A MORAL. 

A cobbler's daughter married an undertaker, 

And swore by his good trade he ne'er would for- 
sake her. 

But at length growing rich his trade did despise. 

And gave up his business as his wife did advise; 

Now a bird was their pet, and so fondly they 
loved him. 

That they nursed every fancy and flattered each 
whim. 

Though like his master and mistress not much was 
his name. 



184 PRIDE, WITH A MORAL. 

And with his own wind must trump his own 
fame. 

By instinct or sympathy (for birds have no rea- 
son) 

'Gainst the means of their wealth he joined in the 
treason, 

And at sight of umbrella or leather — Oh ! strange 
to relate, 

He never stopped fluttering till they passed by 
the gate : 

Now it chanced that one day they both passed 
together. 

And Dick in his fury would have soiled every 
feather, 

But, all thoughtless with rage, thrust his head 
through the wires, 

And ere they relieved him jDride suffering ex- 
pires. 

MORAL. 

Now ye who are rich know that wealth is a 

bladder. 
And if ye enjoy it don't kick at the ladder ; 
For a pin it may burst you, and as you grow 

slack, 
The world's ready jokers will each have a crack. 



WATCUING THE GIRLS BATHING. 185 



OK A PRIEST WATCHING THE GIRLS 
BATHING. 

A PRIEST, not of Apollo but a virtuous God, 
Forgetful of heaven, still clung to the sod ; 
For how could he think of a subject so dull 
As he strolled on the banks of bright Kill Yon 

Kull, 
When some naiads of earth, or perchance dropped 

from heaven. 
For it matters but little when to pleasure they 

are given — 
With their feet and their hands they kept up a 

dashing, 
Which tickled the priest as he looked through 

the splashing ; 
For priests, I suppose, are formed much like men. 
When a little lascivious, no doubt, he grew then. 
In the transports of earth so hard was his fit, 
That hell could not daunt him, nor the bottomless 

pit. 
For a bottomless pit a hole you may call 
That has not a bottom but goes out through a 

wall. 
Where in slipped the priest, and his mirth at an 

end, 



186 CAUGHT IN A STORM. 

For we ahva3's cry heaven when earth does of- 
fend, 

And for each separate crime thei-e is pardon in 
heaven, 

But for two slips in one, what revelation is given. 



CAUGHT IN A STORM. 

Feeling quite ill, and wanting a pill, 

I went for a sermon from "Mr. Hill, 

He sighed and he groaned and he made a great 

fuss, 
And as near as I guessed it the subject ran thus : 

That brutes were all fools, and instinct would lie ; 
And truth was in man, for it carae from the sky. 
And to prove that his argument was not all vain, 
He said it was only in man to prophesy rain ; 

When splash on the windows vrhole buckets-full 

fell, 
And it stormed like a heaven invading a hell. 
The sermon groaned through, in the storm driven 

out. 
For the perishing quadrupeds I was looking 

about ; 
But the hogs and the cows were stowed away 

warm, 
And all the wise bipeds were caught in the storm. 



PA T S COMPLAIN T S UNDA Y MORNING. 187 



THE FIKST MERCHANT TAILOR. 

W^HEN by early sin Don Atlani fell, 
And near bad sent bis soul to b — , 
His tirst want came, and it was sore. 
Was that of finding a mercbant tailor. 
When looking round on nature's shelves, 
They agreed to make their clothes themselves. 
The cloth they took from fig-tree limbs 
For thread they took some thorny pins. 
Thus fitted out a-traveling went. 
If traveling it's called, when out your'e sent. 
'Tis true if now such dress Avere seen. 
Some folks would think it rather green. 
Though Noah may boast be was the sailor, 
Adam was the merchant tailor. 



PAT'S COMPLAINT SUNDAY MORNING 
WHEN NO ONE WOULD RISE TO GET 
HIS BREAKFAST. 

If Sunday would come every day. 
Then Bid and Rose and Moll mio^ht lav. 
And stink in bed, till they were dead. 
And on their tombs it might be said,^ 



188 A THOUSAND A TEAR. 

Life and care let others please, 
Here we may lie and stink at ease, 
Who pities us will sorrow shame, 
For when in life we did the same. 



A THOUSAND A YEAR. 

A BRIDE wlio the bridle had slipped at the altar, 
And used it to make her poor husband a halter, 
Demanded his purse when his sahiry was due, 
And when she had counted it in a passion she 

flew, 
And demanded that money, that thousand a j'^ear. 
And expected to see him all quaking with fear, 
For she thought him too foolish to use any guile. 
And felt him too vanquished to gather a smile. 
But he answered her calmly, " Your rage gives 

me pain, 
You must count it correctly when you count it 

again, 
And the fact you'll believe, for the fact it is plain, 
I take quarters for dollars, and expect you'll do 

the same." 



CAIN AND ABEL. 189 



SAID AX ANGEL TO JOYE. 

Now once on a Sabbath, a Sabbath in heaven, 
A day to the gods for a holiday given, 
Said an angel to Jove, " Let me go to the earth, 
And I'll catch every sinner in his revel and mirth, 
And the righteous this day 'tis easy to know, 
For they are all at the Church in a glorious sliow." 
Then all-knowing Jove, who knew them the 

while, 
Answered the stripling with a guardian smile : 
" Know the hypocrite with the saint to the 

temple will go. 
And the worst their best actions the best day will 

show ; 
'Tis the care of the gods to catch sinners like 

these. 
And the poor hardened sinner you can catch 

when you please." 



CAIN AND ABEL. 

In early times when sin was young. 
And men sprang from one mother ; 

The beau-rageous girls if beaus they had, 
Did find them in a brother. 



190 CAIN AND ABEL. 

Now it chanced upon a holy day, 
When each his fruits should bring ; 

In true devotion to the Lord, 
A holy offering. 

That one there came got of the Lord, 
AVho taught the fruits to grow ; 

And one there came an able nuin, 
Who lambs could overthrow. 

Though Cain laid on the wood full strong, 
The fruit with water drunken, 

Nor smoke, nor blaze could scarcely raise 
From green corn or big pumpkin. 

As Abel slew a tender lamb, 

Cain might have thought unlawful, 

And thus he raised a mighty blaze 
From guts and other oflfal. 

Then Cain he grew so mighty wroth, 
His chops drooped like a feather ; 

The Lord to cheer his naughty boy, 
Bade him new offerings gather. 

"If thou do well, mine be the fire, 

If not, sin is at thy door; 
Abel shall be thy own desire, 

And him thou shall rule o'er." 



CAIN AND ABEL. 191 

Then met tlie brothers in the field, 

And there awhile did chat, 
Till word brought word, and blow brought blow ; 

Xor ended there the spat. 

Then Cain with his great walking stick, 

Gave him such a training ; 
That such sort of work has ever since 

Been known by the name of caning, 

" Where," said the Lord, " can Abel be ? " 

Then Cain in sin grew deeper, 
And said, " He sacrificed to thee. 

Am I my brother's keeper." 

" What hast thou done ? thy brother's blood 

Is crying from the ground, 
O'er earth's broad face in vain you flee, 

No resting place is found. 

" A vagabond upon the earth, 

The soil no more shall feed thee ; 
That thou fed with thy brother's blood. 

So fj:et thee i^one and flee." 



ft' 



Then Cain cried out, " Too hard for me. 

That I must ever hide ; 
And dig my way through rocky earth, 

Or creep upon its rough sid^, 



192 A CHILLY FRAGMENT. 

" And every man that meets shall slay, 

And none on me have pity ; 
Oh ! from the halter set me free, 

And I will build a city." 

" Fear sevenfold wrath," the spirit said, 
" Who shall my victim slay ; " 

Then marked him o'er so much like night 
All shunned him in the day. 

On Eden's east where lay old Kod, 

Cain knew his lovely bride ; 
And built a city for his son, 

And peopled it beside. 

If Cain such feeling had for lambs. 
And felt so keen their bleeding ; 

He might have spared his brother's blood, 
And lived awhile near Eden. 



A CHILLY FRAGMENT. 

Why do we mourn the roses, why do we feel so 

drear ? 
Again will come the roses, but we may not be 

here, 



POOB JIM CROW. 193 

"We are like the race of flowers that only blooms 

a day, 
We have our blooming season and then we pass 

away : 
The wootls so bare and cheerless have almost lost 

their leaves, 
Are like the tottering rags that to the poet 

cleaves ; 
It is enough to chill one, while clothing to keep 

warm,. 
To see how sere and lifeless they are stripped off 

for the storm ; 
How strange to see the trees stripped of all their 

clothes, 
When much we need the cover when howling 

winter blows ! 



POOR JIM CROW. 

On a lorn dry bough sat poor Jim Crow, 
Cogitating over his future woe ; 
For tlie blasts of winter had begun to blow, 
And he had tasted a draught of his coming: woe. 
Kot a leaf on the trees and the fields were all 

bare, 
!N'ot a smile, not a jov, in the prospect w^as there ; 
For joy had departed, and hope it had fled. 
Save the hope that arose from robbing the dead. 

13 



194 AN EL Ear ox orii old cat, jim. 

Some patient old ox or lionost old cow, 

Or a horse that had ti>iled a long life at the 

plough ; 
AVhoni parsimonious man has nourished while 

young ; 
Now old and ileerepit tliev are famished and 

stung. 
For like man in despair his hopes are in pain, 
For the weak are unable their rights to maintain ; 
For man when he prospers may weep to see pain, 
But friendless and famished he hardens again ; 
For the last ho]>e of man is the hope of despair. 
Anil what onee would have pained him, he will 

revel to share. 



AN ELEGY ON OIT. OLD CAT, JDr. 

To-day we have lost a harmless eat, 
Tliat ne'er was known to kill a rat; 
Nor ever was he seen to play : 
But quiet sle]>t the hoiH*s away 

Now surely, Jimmy, thon art blest. 
For you shall have a lengthened rest ; 
Com]>lete is your rest sinee ex]>iration, 
For thou art rid of respiration. 



IN TUE OLD FOUNTAIN HOUSE. 195 



IN THE OLD FOUNTAIN HOUSE. 

THE FROLIC. 

The preachers say, when people pkiy, the devil 
conies on earth, 

But be this fun iVoni heaven or caH/i, tliere was 
some jolly mirth. 

The Fountain Guards at Fountain's House as- 
sembled for a spree, 

And for sucii friends as there attends the hall 
that night was free. 

All that befel I will not tell, 'twould take a score 
of nights. 

But draw one scene from out the screen that 
most my soul delights ; 

A score or more was on the floor of that old joy- 
ous hall, 

And many a lout was stuck about like pictures 
on th(' wall ; 

The fiddle ti'i(Ml to swell the tide and audience to 
gain, 

While Houseman's Dave attention craves to hear 
his Christie strain ; 



19(3 IN THE OLD FOUNTAIN HOUSE. 

General Scott on the table got and kept time 

Avitb his bum, 
While out the door three covies pour to stuff 

themselves with rum ; 
Bill De Groote in petticoat adds mirth unto the 

show, 
While Wheeler's Pat takes off his hat, and begs 

to be her beau ; 
Coffey was there and made them stare to hear 

when he was young. 
And how he walked, and his fiddle talked, all 

Greenwich Village rung ; 
Five on a seat they store the meat, (though no 

way starved, j^ou know) ; 
But heaven defend, and plenty send when they 

shall hungry grow ! 
George Codmus next shall be my text who on a 

beef did sally, 
And by the bone you might have known he 

cleared out Shinbone Alley ; 
Bob Smith, not tall, was near the wall and stuff- 
ing in his head, 
Oh, heaven forgive, and let him live ! an awful 

slice ot bread ; 
On table and chair, Jim Brice was there and 

audience was seeking. 
He hummed and hawed and only said, he was not 

used to speaking ; 



A WALK ON THE NEW ROAD. 197 

Now I am next, so don't be vexed, if I should 

just step out, 
For you, like me, will then be free for anything 

about. 



A WALK ON THE NEW KOAD. 

For a walk on the New Eoad, said I to myself, 
And my muse shall attend me, a frolicsome elf. 
Through Killarney's the long gut, and Pelonie's 

the chat. 
Through Freelinder's the smoker, and Bering's 

the fat. 
Through Bunger's the contrary, who argues each 

point. 
And knows a cat's paw from a wing by a bend of 

the joint ; 
And Berritt's the famous, whom you all know 
Are some part of the concern of Natlian & Co. ; 
The project and the plan of the Road it was 

theirs, 
And great is the profit that each of them shares. 
First they proposed it to a lawyer and he looked 

very wise, 
(For they never speak truth when they can sub- 
stitute lies) ; 
And they opened their mouths when they heard 

him tell 



198 A WALK ON THE NEW ROAD. 

It would make their property available ; 
And often they told it to use that big word, 
And thought it the largest that ever they heard, 
And they went about talking it day after day. 
And when they had said it they had no more to 

say. 
And oft it was quoted by every great fool 
Because used by a rogue that had once been to 

school. 
That the road is an advantage I will not deny, 
But where are the flats that the land were to buy, 
And who are they whose convenience it suits ? 
They are part of them bipeds and part of them 

brutes ; 
To horses and cattle it has given full sway, 
And petticoats and breeches may steal wood all 

day. 
AVhilst on this great road T am singing its fame, 
Tiie thought has just struck me of changing its 

name — 
Whilst the train with their bundles keep up a 

long sally 
It seems tjuite appropriate to name it Brush Alley. 

'Tis not my desire 

To brinir from heaven the wild electric fire, 
But 'tis to strive with all the zeal I can 
To make this world a happy place for man. 



LITTLE DILL-DALLY. 199 



LITTLE DILL-DALLY, THE PEST OF THE 
LAND. 

With lungs that are like iron strong, 

And wind to chatter all dav Ions: ; 

And read enough in classic lore, 

To know that Cleopatra breeches wore. 

Of wordy cares a ^vorld had wrought 

Of others' business, cares and thoun^lit. 

And oft he felt he'd have been able 

To have finished out, unfinished Babel ; 

But felt it was (h^signed l)y f;ite, 

lie should not save our sinking state ; 

Yet 'gainst corruption still he railed 

Nor aught discouraged that he faiPd. 

Taxes, he said, had grown so high, 

That soon no one the land would buy ; 

Cities he called filthy sewers. 

Full of blacklegs, and mischief-brewers ; 

And oh! to tell it how he grieves, 

What dens they are for rogues and thieves. 

He answers, if his height tlu^}^ slander. 

Just the height of Alexander. 

Like Ulysses 'mid affliction sore 

And like him when he fought the boar ; 



200 THE LEECHES. 

Both youth and old age he'll ever advise 

But woe if they cross him, in a passion he flies. 

'Tis true that some friends sometimes may shun 

him, 
But scarce is that friend to be found can outrun 

him. 
Remember, stern moralist, what by wind has been 

done 
How Ai was blown up, and Jericho down. 



THE LEECHES, OX HAYIXG THEM AP- 
PLIED. 

A LOT of free-suckers were brought in to suck, 
Who were known to feast well when they had 

the good luck, 
So, without any words or ado of the matter. 
They all set them down without murmur or 

clatter ; 
No yarns or long stories o'er the viands are tokb 
But still as a burglar when he's turning out gold ; 
Or a pig with his snout in the deep rich swill, 
Kot a ffrunt nor a murmur as he sucks down his 

fill. 
Thus like nobles they stuff till their paunches 

stick out, 
Like a gent that has suffered a long time from 

gout; 



THE POMEGRANATE. 201 

Or like aldermen who, for the public defense, 
Are taking a dinner at the public expense. 
They stuff and they suck as long as they're able, 
Till stuffed out so round they roll from the table. 
Though vomited out they all yielded their breath 
To delirium tremens or some gut-stuffing death. 
Ye stuffers and suckers, take warning from this. 
And remember that stuffing won't bring 3'ou to 

bliss ; 
Be modest in taking when another must groan, — 
And I know ye'll be moderate when the expense 

is your own, — 
Lest the stench of your stomach should choke 

you to death. 
And your friends cry out : Pudding, what ! can't 

you get breath ? 
Unless like a " shaver " * who by sucking grows 

leaner. 
And the deeper they stick oile, they still look 

the meaner. 



THE POMEGKANATE. 

Bacchus, a naughty selfish boy, 
"Whose only thought was his own joy, 
Once beguiled a Scj^thian maid. 
Whose simple heart attention paid ; 

* A Money-broker. 



202 THE PICNIC. 

But soon the lady died of grief, 

And thus liis conscience sought relief; 

Her he metamor]ihosed to a tree, 

And crowned its fruit to fill a prophecy. 



THE riCNIC. 

Whilst following my hardy steers, 
The stubborn glebe compelled to yield 

Before the mold board gently shears ; 
The coming hope. The fallow field. 

The sweetest notes fell on my ear, 

It charmed the man, it charmed the brute, 

Unconsciously I left the plough, 

Drawn by the power of Orpheus' lute. 

At length I came in distant view, 

Pleased awhile I gazed unseen, 
On sylvan maze of motley hue, 

Sporting on the woodland green. 

When swift some tell-tale brought them word 
That gazing from behind yon tree, 

A minstrel he, as they had heard. 
Then quickly they surrounded me. 



VALENTINE TO PECK. 203 

Not more the goddesses their arts employ 
When rivals stood before tlie she])lierd boy, 

Nor more enamored did the Phrygian boy 
The rival goddesses behold with joy. 

In sweetest strain they sang my lino 

My soul to heaven was born away, 
Nor for a moment dreamed it mine, 

But thought it some old roundelay. 

They souglit to have their name in verse. 

And fairer never graced a line, 
Here I must cease, I'll not rehearse. 

Lest mortals I should term divine. 

But I'll forbear to sing their praise, 

A heavenly check is on my line ; 
Though burning with a ]ioet's blaze 

I must own the power divine. 



VALENTINE TO BECK 

His grandsire had the common name of Beck- 
That simple appellation never shone, — 

By adding pecker saved it from a wreck. 
Now his great seed is known by Beckerson. 



204 TUERE IS SOMETHING IN A NAME. 

I know you are a gallant knight, 

The hero of a hirk ; 
But all 1 know I will not tell— 

The scene was near the Park. 

As you are the connectinu' link, 
Between the man and hrute, 

Pray on the Athenaeum tend, 
Their argument you'll suit. 

If small potatoes bring a price, 
You had better stay away ; 

For fear some blundering fellow there, 
Should seize you for his prey. 



TIIEKE IS SOMETHING IN A NAME. 

The rose it ever will be sweet, 

Nor need we name the eglantine — 

The coral rocks so bright and steep. 
"Without a name would be sublime. 

Yet a name is not an idle thing, 
A name is the echo of a sound — 

That, unknown, may make a valley ring, 
But can't be trumped the world around. 



TUE CAPTIVE EAGLE. 205 



GRACE BEFORE GRAHAM BREAD. 

Thou who good from evil culls, 
Alter this wortiilcss plan ; 

Sift our flour from the hulls, 
And give our hogs the bran. 



THE CAPTIYE EAGLE. 

1834. 

Assembled once in mighty mass, 

To celebrate our libertv, 
They tied the free-born easle fast 

High on a pole of white-oak tree. 

" For shame ! for shame! " the people cried, 
" For shame, to tie the eagle fast ! " 

" It matters not," I heard replied, 
" With him slavery will not last." 

But soon the people changed their cry, 
He burst his bonds, he took his flight. 

He marked me with his eagle-eye. 
And on my shoulder he did light. 



206 THE IRISU BOY. 

" You are mine," I cried in triumph, 
Tlie people bard pursuing me ; 

"With nimble limbs I climbed the trunk 
And placed him high on white-oak tree. 



THE IKISII BOY HAS KETUKNED FROM 
THE WAE. 

The Mexican War, 1847. 

The blighting blast of war has blown, 
No more we fight our neighbor : 

The Irish boy has returned from the war 
To live by honest labor. 

No more when going to his toil 

His heart shall be dejected, 
Though he meets the sneer of worthless pride 

In the land his worth protected. 

For he felt, whilst fighting with our band, 

He likewise fought for Erin ; 
For as darkness gathered o'er his land 

Columbia's light was appearing. 

For though her sons be rude and wild, 

Or by slaver\''s yoke dejected. 
The genial warmth of freedom's sun 

^hall train them when protected. 



THE FIRE-WORSUIPPEBS PRAYER. 207 



THE rmE-WORSHIPER'S PRAYER. 

My faith is in the finnament, 

It's in the iiery car, 
And with a heavenly ornament 

ril nail it with a star. 

My faith is in the God of dnv, 

The cloud-dispelling power ; 
The God that drives the night away, 

Or cheers the gloomj^ hour. 

My faith is in the source of life, 
From whom all blessings flow; 

Or guides the elemental strife, 
Or bids creation grow. 

What blessings may I dare to ask, 

Since righteous is thy sway, 
Whilst feeble man, with little task, 

Must err in every way. 

We feel thy spirit in our blood. 

It cheers us in our home ; 
And every blessing, great and good, 

From fire alone must come. 



208 ON THE COMING OF JENNY LIND. 

And when at length our spirit flies, 
To seek that unknown sea, 

Oh, may it find in glad surprise 
Its fountain flows from thee. 

My faith is in the firmament. 

It's in the fiery car. 
And with a lieavenly ornament 

I'll nail it with a star. 



NOT ALWAYS MELANCHOLY. 

Not always melancholy marked his brow, 
But now and then he had a spell of joy ; 

Contemplation moved the furrows of her plough, 
And blithe he seem'd as a Bacchanalian boy. 



ON TIIE COMING OF JENNY LIND IN 1850. 

Supposed to be written by Jierself. 

Thk halo of the w^estern star, 

The fame of liberty, 
Has drawn me fi'om the eastern shore 

To see the blest and free. 



LIKE OCEAN WAVES. 209 

The heart would own its grateful power, 
The tongue a note would raise ; 

But silence claims the happier hour, 
Where love and concord plays. 

In vain we tune the vocal lyre, 

Such notes are never sung, 
Such feelings from the heart may flow. 

But never from the tonfi^ue. 



A KISS A DAY. 

"Well ma}^ I say, 
A kiss a day 

I have had for twelve months back; 
And it may be said 
I was doubly paid 

For any it did lack. 



LIKE OCEAN WAYES. 

Like ocean's waves our transient stay. 
For wave must still for wave make way. 



210 MT CUP DISTIL WITH PEACEFUL HOURS. 



TO SOPHIE. 

Hear thy fond admirer praise, 
And let Lis notes thy passions raise. 
Give him the love to thee he's given, 
And own tliat love that's pure as heaven, 
lie shall be Avrapt in all thy ways, 
Till time shall bid him cease thy praise. 



EQUAL BLESSINGS ARE FEOM HEAVEN. 

Equal blessings are from Heaven, 
To poets are the muses given ; 
AVhcn their gifts they have received 
Of all others they're relieved. 



MY CUP DISTIL WITH PEACEFUL HOURS. 

Let Juno seek the thunderer in his charms. 
Give me the soft embraces of his arms. 
Let those of tumult, in tumult get their fill. 
But still with peaceful hours my cup distil. 



MAT, 1838. 211 



A FRAGMENT FROM THE BURNT « LEX- 
INGTON." 

Like one great family they together press ; 
As chil(lr(3n mourning, mid some dire distress, 
Soon from a sire to be forever torn, 
All pale with fear, in sorrow all forlorn, 
Together all they mix in pious fear — 
All grades are lost, they are all forgotten here. 
No more they feel high honors' canker rot. 
Pride, friendless bastard, first to be forgot. 
That worthless burden then is borne no more, 
When frightened spirits seek that unknown shore. 



MAY, 1838. 

Ye budding trees, ye embryo fruits, rejoice, 
Ye warbling throngs re-echo nature's voice. 
No more dark winter's sombre coat is seen, 
Ye flowers put forth, ye meads assume your 

green. 
No more hoarse waters through the valleys roar. 
But peaceful brooks their gentle murmurs pour. 
Those cedar groups, drear winter's brightest 

green. 
Now, sullen, seem to hate the livelier scene. 



212 GOD'S CREATURES. 



DAEKWINTEE SLOWLY EOLLED AAV AY. 

The spring once more returns again, 
And with it comes the joys of spring ; 

The swelling buds begin to flower, 
And with them many a promise bring. 

Those darkling clouds no longer fly, 
No more the sullen tempests reign ; 

But heavenly showers, on gladdened fields. 
And music fills the smiling plain. 

"When wintery life has ])assVl away. 
Thus hope can point beyond the grave: 

Our spirit rid of morbid clay. 

Eternal spring shall blooming save. 



GOD'S CEEATUEES. 

There was an old uncle, a crust}"^ old uncle, 

And he had of relations a few, 
And of a wife's vexations, who called them rela- 
tions. 
At least two score and two. 
Now they would come down upon him, and his 
wife she would drum them, 



GOD'S CREATURES. 213 

Antl said she admired the whole crew. 

When they first came to the house, not a flea, nor 
a louse, 

Xor a mosquito could enter the door ; 

But they soon had tlie run, relation and vermin, 

And the house it was all in an uproar. 

But to prayer God is good, to the house that's 
withstood. 

The demons of Hades, or the bore ; 

For now you sliall see every mosquito and flea 

"Was gathered to the best spare room ; 

Even bed-bugs and roaches no longer encroaches. 

Save into this spare room of doom. 

Then uncle's dear wife, the joy of his life, 

Said " AVhat shall we do with this boon ? " 

Then the uncle replied, " This room, once your 
pride. 

Has been doomed by the Powers above ; 

It's a blessing in disguise, a gift, and a prize, 

A heavenly token of love ; 

It shall be our guest chamber, for all times re- 
mainder, 

There to enjoy their dear uncle's home ; 

Then quick they will leave, though the short 
visits may grieve. 

They never again will roam." 



214 THE BANKS OF EILL-VON-KULL. 



THIS MORNING ROSE AS BRIGHT A SUN. 

This morning rose as bright a sun 
As heaven has ever smiled upon ; 
On it roll'd, but ere it went down, 
All heaven was covered with a frown. 
Thus in this the world you see, 
First smile and then'll frown on thee. 



THE BANKS OF KILL-YON-KULL. 

When nature is cheerful, oh, who could be dull, 
On the banks of thy waters, delightful Von-KuU ? 
When the blossoms of spring are returning again. 
And are shedding their fragrance over thy })lain, 
How cheering the sight to see how the rich fields 
In summer what harvest abundant she yields ; 
At the close of the day it is pleasant to glide 
Alongf the smooth face of thv soft-rollinf]: tide. 
In summer and autumn it's pleasant to share 
In the fruits that thy orchards abundantly bear : 
Again it is pleasant to look o'er the fields, 
And see the ripe corn she abundantly yields ; 
In winter it's pleasant to see how each sail 
Is borne along swiftly by the force of the gale ; 



THE APPROACH OF A THUNDER-SHOWER. 215 

Again it is pleasant to see the sea-gull 

Sporting o'er the surge when the ice binds Yon- 

Kull. 
There always is pleasure in every scene 
"When fancy can throw over nature its screen. 



WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF A 
THUNDER-SHOWER AFTER SEVERE 
DROUGHT. 

In the season of 1838 we had eleven weeks of drought, 
ending about the middle of September. As the shower was 
approaching I lay down on the piazza and composed 
the following lines : 

Delighted, Pll sing, 
Whilst the elements ring 
With the joy of the shower 
That will come in this hour. 
Begone, accursed dearth, 
From the famishing earth ! 
And the unwelcome clouds 
Of dust that enshrouds, 
Robs nature of her hue. 
That to beauty is true. 
And has left us to mourn 
For the season that hns irone ; 



216 THE APPRO ACU OF A THUNDER-SHOWER. 

That can never be restored, 

Though the rain should be poured 

In a copious flow 

On all that's below — 

For nought can supply 

The time that has gone by; 

"But 'tis hope and not fear 

That our spirits can cheer, 

And what this will deny 

The next year will supply. 

Then, welcome the thunder 

That rendeth asunder 

Those huge dark rolling clouds, 

That on each other crowds ; 

And the lightning's red flash 

As together they clash, 

Whilst they clamber in vain 

The foremost to remain. 

Though with fury they burn 

They are rolled in, in turn ; 

And thus in grand array 

Their beauty they display. 

Whilst the large drops of rain 

Now moisten the ]ilain — 

Then, farewell to the dearth 

And drought banished from earth I 



WRITTEN ON A CAST-OFF. 217 



WRITTEN ON AN OEPIIAN BOY. 

WHO HAD ESCAPED FKOM A BRITISH SHIP LYING AT 
TOMPKINSVILLE, HE SAID HE WAS ILL USED, AND 
SOUGHT SHELTER IN MY FATHER's HOUSE. 

An orphan in a foreign land 
Demands thy kind, protecting hand ; 
Turn not away, who more than he 
Can claim thy hospitality ? 
My father' sheltering arms did crave, 
My father's shelter to him gave, 
For he had been an orphan boy. 
Homeless and poor, — it gave him joy 
To feed and shelter that poor orphan boy. 



WRITTEN ON A CAST-OFF. 

HOURS OF MELANCHOLY. 

From cruel parents' bitter frown, 

Impervious barriers rise ; 

But cease, 'twas fate forbids to crown 

Thy joys beneath the skies ; 

Neglected still in drudgery moil 

Thy Saviour seek, and Heaven reward thy toil ! 



218 THE EYE IS THE INDEX OF THE SOUL. 



TO MISS UESULA NIESS. 

SejJt. 13, 1897. 

Go to your fatherland, dear child, 

Gixl's blessings take, and mine along ; 

Think of the dear ones left behind : 
And don't forget the child of song. 



THE EYE IS THE INDEX OF THE SOUL. 

You cannot judge love's latent thought 
By aught that issues from the tongue, 

It is with such deception fraught, 
And falsehoods are so often sung. 

The eye is the index of the soul, 

The inner passions it will tell. 
No secret passions can control 

The truth that there is legible. 



OiV TAKING A HORSE. 219 



BUILD THINE OWN HOUSE. 

PooK, simple man, to build a house for God, 

Who iills the heavens and rules it with his nod ! 

Foul morbid dust and mouldering clay, 

To raise a pile for time to mould away ! 

Build thy own house, and keep thy record even. 

And trust in Him to build thy house in heaven. 



ON TAKING A HORSE 

FROM A DRUNKEN BUM, AND RETURNING HIM TO HIS 
MASTER. 

Receive again tiiis horse, you ass, 
And never let it come to pass 
A brute of such a noble strain 
Shall by a nmle be driven again. 



220 ON S^EjyG A COW'S CARCAiiS. 



ON SEEING A COWS CARCASS 

DRIFTING OUT OF THE KILLS, THAT HAD BEICN 
HOISTED OUT OF A PIT HALF STARVED, AND KILLED 
ITSELF STUFFING IN A RICH CLOVER FIKLD. 

Driff on, thou beast with more than mortal 

paunch, 
That still might lived unharmed on moderate 

lunch : 
Drift on with speed, for none will strive to 

save 
That well might fill, but don't deserve, a grave. 
Drift on, thy stench has promised speedy rot. 
And, like thy eleg}'', thou soon will be forgot. 
Drift on and swell, for now thy race is run, 
What beast but toad or man this would have 

done ? 
If thou had but in that deep pit have died. 
Thy unsightly paunch would not disgrace this 

tide. 
My friend from meagre famine sought thy life to 

save 
And took thee, helpless, from a living grave, 



ON MEETING A FRIEND. 221 



WHO WOULD XOT LOYE A GENTLE 
MAID. 

Who would not love a gentle maid, 
AVith heavenly face and angel form ; 

When they could have that love rei)aid— 
That love alone the heart might warm. 



TO MY DAPtLmO. 

Like sunbeams an a mirror bright, 
That dazzle as they shine ; 

Thus Sophie shines a satellite. 
With charms that all are thine. 



ON MEETING A FPJEXD WHOM I HAD 
HEARD HAD DIED OF CHOLERA IN 
1849. 

When the blast it has swept o'er the plain. 
And its bloom is wasted and gone, 

With joy we behold one again, 
That so lately in death we did mourn. 



222 ADVICE TO YOUTH. 



THE PIRATE. 



"With the steel of Damascus in bis sword 
And the fire of hell in his e3'e, 

"With man and with nature he warred, 
And dared even Heaven defy. 



TOM CLARK'S TRIP. 

When Tommy went to Barnegat, 
The sea breeze made him shiver, 

So on the place he turned bis back, 
And fetched up at Tom's river. 

And when the river he beheld, 
He said if this is Tommy's Creek ; 

I'll stray no more on Jersey's shore, 
Such travelin": makes me sick. 



ADVICE TO YOUTH. 

Improve thy time, young man, I say. 

Display thy blooms whilst blooms thou canst 

display ; 
The time will come, and is not far away, 



THE WEE BUNCH OF HAIR. 223 

When thy proud form shall wither and decay ; 
Then Avill thou tell of wondrous things thou hast 

seen, 
And talk as though this world is but " a has 

been." 



SEEK NOT FOK ME MIDST MEN OF 
FAME. 

Seek not for me midst men of fame, 
The Muses never trumped my name ; 
Privately they walk wntli me. 
And guide my pen in secrecy. 



THE WEE BUXCH OF HAIR. 

June 9, 1848. 

I ANCE kenn'd a songstress she was bonnie and 

fair, 
An' na sunset o' beauty wi' her could compare; 
But she lo'ed a wee laddie, na fortune was there, 
Na beauty had he, but a wee bunch of hair. 

So blame na the fishes that are cauo-ht with 



a snare, 
en a b 
hair. 



When a bonnie wee lassie is caught with a 



224 TnE LAZY MAN. 

He had nane of stature, for he was na tall, 

And weighted in the balance he was naithin at all, 

When 3'ou look'd on his face all ye saw that was 

fair, 
"Was found on his lip, in a wee bunch of hair. 

So blame na tlie fishes. — 

Now I sing ye this song, that ye lassies beware, 
That ye lose nae your wits, and are caught with 

a liair ; 
For it is na of comfort, though your life it be 

long. 
To Stan' by a blellum, and live on a song. 

So blame na the fishes. — 

"With a head that is held, and a mouth that is 

blare. 
Still saved in its beauty by a wee lock of hair ; 
He might hae been taller if his leg had been 

straight, 
But the name never mention, 'twas Padd}- O'Clate. 

So blame na the fishes. — 



THE LAZY MAK. 

Lazy man, of idle wife, 
"What hast thou done to pay for life ? 
Alone thou hast to boast of seed, 
Like carcasses that maggots breed : 



TO MU. nriAT-YOU-CALL-niM'S DAUGHTER. 225 

Thy worthless time is spent in scandal, 
The most of it prophetical ; 
To church a hypocrite and liar, 
To ancient friends a brand of fire. 
Drone of tlie hive, sting of the flower, 
Giant of strife, chief of such power ; 
Dealer in graves, and human bones. 
Who paves his walks with their last stones ; 
Arise I shake off this curse of thine. 
And thank for it this Valentine. 



TO MR. WHAT-YOU-CALL-HIM'S DAUGH- 
TER. 

Miss Something ; Miss Nothing — Oh which shall 

I say ? 
Miss Something, like nothing, excuse me, I pray ; 
How shall I ap])roach one so lofty and high, 
I confess while I'm doing it, one feels very shy ; 
But, I, like yourself, still strive to get higlier, 
Like smoke that escapes from the smouldering lire, 
For I laud thy proud spirit; though ever so low. 
If nourish'd and fed to a mountain may grow ; 
And still creeping up, though thy progress is 

slow. 
But the slower the motion the surer we go. 

15 



226 TO SUSAN. 

Tlius on the cords of affliction thy father waxed 
strong, 

Till honey and money all came in a throng. 

Thus mid the dim clamor of poverty's chime 

Thou hast passed all description of my meek, suf- 
fering rhyme. 

But don't think I want you, though thou art a 
team, 

A thousand hog power in thy own self-esteem ; 

I'd jump out of my skin, and over old time, 

Before I'd become thy doomed Valentine. 



TO SUSAN. 

WHO DID NOT LIKE LORD BYRON. 

Ye Gods ! what's the matter? My muse, it's a 

loosing ; 
I must hurry and write you, most beautiful Susan. 
Such virtue as thine I never will slight, 
AVhile a muse, or a deil, gives me power to write : 
My verse of the purest and cheapest shall be. 
Such only Fd presume to offer to thee ; 
Be silly 'mid fools, 'mid learned try to shine. 
And if they are pious be all that's divine; 
Thus Ovid has sung, but excuse me, Oh, no! 
I never have read it, the}' tell me 'tis so. 



AULD AUNTY. 227 

But don't be so hard on foolish Lord Byron, 
For some silly ones he can eha:';m like a siren, 
Though his pen it was lewd, and he swore a bit 

too ; 
But you can't expect the whole world to be as 

virtuous as you. 



AULD AUNTY. 

Come, ye beggarly critics in 3'our might, 
Assist me whilst of an old hag I Avrite — 
Ashamed to call the Muses to such verse, 
A subject fit for meddlers to rehearse; 
Her pedigree will not this page disgrace, 
For who can into dark oblivion trace ? 
Suffice to say that she is here on earth. 
Her presence is sufficient proof of birth ; 
In years she grew but not in wisdom clever. 
If e'er possessed they long ago did sever; 
She wonders much at her exaltation, 
l^or dreams she was put there for temptation, 
Satan had long since taken thee away. 
But to increase his realms he lets thee stay ; 
Let wonders cease for he will come at last. 
And roughly then he will his truant grasp. 
She has forgot how often she told lies, 
To market girls and boys about her pies — 



228 JOHN STEERS. 

But check thy lies and be thy slanders ceased. 
Since fortune has so much thy love increased, 
That favored man whom she has smiled u])on, 
And learned as much to love, as thee to shun. 
Torture the world, do not disturb his peace, 
r>ut in his presence let thy wran<T;lin<:; cease. 
Wi)at worries tliee need not disturb his breast, 
When from his toil he has retired to rest. 
The lordly bull must hear the whiffet's bay, 
But tlie fleet horse can speed him far away. 
In noble fight the lion bears the shock. 
But fleet he flies him from the hated cock. 
Now, lest thy cackling should such mischief 

make. 
Better to cease, nor risk so great a stake. 



ON SEEING THE SIGN OVER THE STOKE 
DOOR OF A YOUNG ENGLISHMAN 
NAMED JOHN STEERS. 

Young John Bull, as it appears. 
Has been altered to John Steers. 



A PARODY. 229 



A PARODY ON TIPPECANOE AND TYLER 
TOO. 

Jime 19, 1896. 

What lias caused tin's great commotion, motion, 
motion, motion. 

The country tliroug-li ? 
It is the ball a rolling on 

For money true, and McKinley, too. 
And with them we can beat any man, man, man. 

And with them we can beat any man. 

"What had caused that great commotion, motion, 
motion, motion. 

The convention through ? 
It was the ball, that they raised in the hall. 

For money true, and McKinley, too. 
And with them we can beat any man, man, man. 

And with them we can beat any man. 

"What is causing this great commotion motion, 
motion, motion. 

The country through? 
It is the squall that bursting o'er all 

For money true, and McKinley, too. 
And with them we will beat any man, man, man. 

And with them we will beat any man. 



230 WRITTEN ON TUE FIRST ELECTION. 



WEITTEN ON THE FIEST ELECTION 
NEWS WHICH DECLxVRED HENRY 
CLAY ELECTED IN 1844. 

It was the third day before we knew the difference. 

Oh, Locofocoes,* do you know, 
The whigs have elected Mersereau.f 
He was the native Candidate, 
And he has scaled the Locoes' fate. 
Get out the way, Poke and Dallas, 
Lucky dogs to escape the gallows. 

Now, Locoes, we have proved you loons, 
You said that you would feast on coons ; 
The whigs have turned about your jokes, 
And you must cat your own mud-pokes. 
Get out tlie way. Poke and Dalhis, 
Lucky dogs to escape the gallows. 

The greatest hunter of the day. 

Is the famous Harry Clay ; 

And what is the last part of the joke. 

He took the Coons to hunt the Poke. 
Get out the Avay, Poke and Dallas, 
Lucky dogs to escape the gallows, 

* One of tlie names of the Democratic Party 
f Elected to the Assembly. 



A JOLLY DEACON. 231 

Now Locofocoism is dead, 

And of a nuisance we are rid ; 

But should they ever come again, 

We will sweep them up with a harry-cane • 
Get out the way, Poke and Dallas, 
Lucky dogs to escape the gallows. 

Didn't you hear the Locoes say 

They would hunt the Coons and Harry Clay ? 

And the last Coons was all the cry, 

But, Mr. Poke, they have put you by. 
Get out the way. Poke and Dallas, 
Lucky dogs to escape the gallows. 



A JOLLY DEACOK 
A JOLLY deacon in our town, 



') 



A lazy, idle ranger, 
When he heard the do^s were killing hoffs 
He thought himself in danger. 

Now a custom 'twas witli Colonel Dog, 

To take a Sabbath walk, sir ; 
And crossing o'er the deacon's field, 

He stopped to smell fresh pork, sir. 



232 YANKEE DOODLE. 

The sly old boots lay in the barn, 
And charged the dog with stealing ; 

Then sentenced death in his own court, 
"Without due fellow feeling. 

Now had this deacon been at prayer. 
Or obeying the laws of the nation, 

The honest dog might have lived that day, 
And Satan had vacation. 



YANKEE DOODLE. 

There was a Deacon and a Clown, 

And it was his desire 
That the Locoes* of his town 

Would consent to make him Squire. 

Chorus. — "Witli corncobs, Maggy, twist his hair. 
With dirty brats surround him. 
Let hungry friends devour his corn 
And angry creditors pound him. 

And when Squire he Avas made, 

He could not serve his nation. 
From inefficiency 'twas said 

lie sent in his resignation. 

Chortis. 

* Locofocoes or Democratic Party. 



YANKEE DOODLE. 233 

When liis resignation he did write, 

It was not drawn correctly, 
He only answered it is right, 



Though no one did direct me. 



Now to prove him more than fit 
To drive liis hogs to pasture, 

lie did another ollice get 
Which is called road-master. 



Chomis. 



Chorus. 



That all might his importance see. 
That none might defy his wrath, sir 

He warned them with the gravity 
That Judges sentence deatli, sir. 

Chorus. 

And though this Squire would not steal. 
Yet to make his neighbors grunt, sir. 

He from those neighbors' front would wheel 
The dirt on his own front, sir. 

Chorus. 

The reason why I sang this Clown 

Is that it ne'er again be said, sir. 
The enliglitened people of this town, 

Chose their Squire by the size of his head, sir. 

Chorus. 



234 COON ELECTION SONG. 



THE DARKIES' JUBILEE. 

Come, Organ-grinders, what you about ? 
Screw up your ])i})es, and let yourselves out; 
De Fourth am com'in, and all am free, 
•And the colored man's bound to have a good 
spree. 

De white folks tink dey am mighty in inwen- 

tion, 
And make a great fuss at the w^orld's conwention, 
But it's no use for'm to bray bout de fair, 
Fo dey'll neber learn for to curl de hair. 

When de black man gets a mighty nation, 
De white folks da'l try to claim relation ; 
But dey need't think about that they can't com- 
pare. 
For if dey flat de nose de heel ain't dere. 



COOX ELECTION SONG. 

You tink because we am colored folks, 
Some tings we do not know ; 

But if you will listen here awhile, 
A ting or two I'll show. 



COON ELECTION SONG. 235 

How they wheel about ' 

And turn about, 

And do just so. 

And we carry off de loaves 

And de fishes for de crow. 

I am de slave of Mr. Pork, 

And I'll tell you Avhere I dwell ; 

Just this side of Texas, 

Which is next door to h — well. 
So I'll wheel about. 

Now some of you begin to grin, 

And some say, how you talk; 
To call a lubly candidate. 

The name of Mr. Pork. 
HoAv you wheel about. 

Now I'll explain the thing to you, 

And show you very plain ; 
So all of you may understand. 

That there's guts into his brain. 
So you wheel about. 

That General Jackson was a swine, 

That no man will dispute ; 
And that the present candidate, 

Is come of the same root. 
So they wheel about. 



236 THE SLAVE TO INTEMPERANCE. 

And when you catch and kill 'em, 
Why 'tis as plain as chalk, 

Marked upon a colored man, 
That a dead hog is pork. 
So they wheel about. 

And when you come to reflect on this, 

I tink you all must say 
That let the hog be dead or alive ; 

You better vote for Clay. 
So don't wheel about. 



THE OLD TOPER. 

When mild November's sunless days, 

Made cabbage market dull. 
One evening as I wandered forth, 

On the banks of Kill-Von-Kull, 
I spied a man wliose tottering step, 

Seemed weary worn with care ; 
Or else of sweet forgetfulness, 

He had a double share. 



THE SLAYE TO INTEMPEEANCE. 

Before the lagging winter's sun. 
Proclaims the coming morn, 

Ah, man that's born to miserj^, 
Must rise to get his horn. 



TO MRS. SIMON PETER. 237 



OLD BUSTER. 

Old Buster, what a green grave thy belly would 
make, 
'T would need no stone, the grass its resting- 
place would show ; 
Why don't you die for the poor churchyard's 
sake, 
And cattle to thy grave in ])i]grimage would go. 



TO MRS. SIMON PETER. 

■tEolus and old Boreas, might either claim the 
dame, 

But both of them for blowino; have had enough 
of fame ; 

And as for human nature, mankind will ever 
slumber. 

Which Satan, wisely knowing, has put his mark 
upon her. 

N. B. Now don't blow this about, the season is so 
airy. 

Remember if you dc, you can't call me " dear- 
est Mary." 



238 ON SEEING A TO UNG LADY'S Dili TY Nh CK. 



ON BURYING A DEAD HORSE. 

Man and horse 

Must have their course, 

And til is the last. 
They will not save ; 
Though in their grave, 

They'll stink at last. 



POPE, HOLD TIIY PEACE. 

Poi'E, hold thy peace, 'tis folly to proclaim. 
That mean self-love and social are the same. 



ON SEEING A YOUNG LADY'S DIRTY 
NECK. 

For God's sake, S , wash your neck, 

Before it sends your soul to wreck ; 
For if the ^NFoslem faith is true, 
There is no hope in heaven for you. 



/ WOULD NOT BE A SLAVE. 239 



THE PROPHECY. 

Some low canaille shall grasp thee to his arms, 
And blast the beauty of those youthful charms ; 
Then the blithe spirit that makes thee feel so gay, 
Shall only serve to wear thy life away. 



TO JANE. 

Why wish thee on a foreign strand, 
AVhy should oblivion seal thy doom ? 

Thou lovely flower that well might stand 
"Where thousands cultured fondly bloom. 



I WOULD NOT BE A SLAVE. 

I WOULD not live a woman's slave, 

And be unto myself untrue ; 
Kor do I much attention crave, 

I only ask from them my due. 
If my demand should make them wonder. 
Just tell them, I say, go to thunder. 



240 YANKEE DOODLE DEWEY. 



YANKEE DOODLE DEWEY. 

Yankee Doodle came to town, 

And found the Spanish kicking, 
He said : " You pu})pies, make less noise. 
Or else you'll get a licking." 
Yankee Doodle Doodle do, 

Yankee Doodle Dandy. 
Keep the step and keep the time, 
And let the girls go handy. 

Then madden'd Spain struck up her band, 

In angry passions gluey, 
Swore she would lick us Avith one hand. 
Then 'long came Yankee Dewey. 

He cleared for fight with all his might. 

And in sailed Yankee Dewey ; 
Yankee Doodle Doodle do, 
Yankee Doodle Dewey. 

That gallant fleet that once was Spain's 

Is hardly now worth owning ; 
That valiant crew has all been slain, 

Or on the beach lay groaning. 



THE PATRIOT'S CALL. 241 

Then noble Dewey, Yankee like, 
Looked up his wounded foemen ; 

He still respects a fallen foe, 
But yields his flag to no man. 

He cleared for fight, with all his might ; 

And in sailed Yankee Dewey ; 
Yankee Doodle Doodle do, 

Yankee Doodle Dewey. 



THE PATRIOT'S CALL. 

Help me, ye powers Divine, my country calls ! 

Help ! Oh, help before ray country falls ! 

The contagion spreads, and bolder villainy grows, 

Vice hides no more, corruption overflows ; 

And still my country's better parts give way. 

And, crouching, cry, who will the villains stay? 

Is virtue dead, and honor palled with fear? 

Has freedom fled, and hope refused to cheer ? 

Is it for this our fathers fought and bled ? 

And is it for this our noble statesmen led ? 

Is this the land where freedom proudly shone ? 

Is this the land that reared a Washington ? 

Shades of our fathers, can ye not return. 

Sons of the brave, with freedom's spirit burn ? 
i6 



242 URALDO AND DUNA-RINA. 

Ye statesmen dull, slaves of lucre's pellucid 

charm, 
Arouse, we call for right, and save our state from 

harm. 
'Tis thine the power to save our falling state ; 
Nor party lines, nor pelf, should bid thee wait, 
Spring to the helm, avert the dangerous shock, 
And save our state ship from the (hmgerons rock; 
And save our honor from ignominy and sliame. 
And build yourselves an early statesman's name. 
Our mucli loved land save from inijiending fate, 
From dire disaster, and avenging hate. 



URALDO AND DUNA-EINA. 

EvEKiNA, draw near the aged bard, tliat thy 
yellow locks may lloat amid my gray hair, and 
tliy bright sparkling eyes beam on my sightless 
orbs. Strike the harp! and I will sing you a 
song of times that have winged far distant into 
thought : of deeds of the years of memory, when 
war rolled over our land, like the waves on a 
stormy sea ; they play on the mind like the restless 
fires of the north, like a meteor they light the soul. 
We saw the red flag of Britain, but we were un- 
equal to the fight. We waited our coming friends, 



VRALDO AND DUNA-ttlNA. 243 

from Ai'iiio's rock}^ bounds, and Sligo's shaggy 
side. But the foe swept over the land like the blast 
of the desert. At length we gathered round and 
fell on his scattered rear. He turned, terril)Io as 
a lion when the hunters wound him with their 
spears. Who can describe the meeting of hosts, 
when the heroes themselves know not the s[)eed 
of the valiant? We pour in like the mountain 
tide when the snows are wasting before the sun. 
Uraldo heard the distant din of arms, he left 
the lovely Duna-rina, the white-handed daughter 
of the harp. lie seized the spear and rushed head- 
long on the foe. Feeble was the youth for the 
battles of heroes. His skill was in the strife of 
love. Wounded he turned aside in the eddying 
tide of war. The foe broke through our lines 
and fled from the field, like raging lire before 
the driving wind. We pursue them to their dark 
bosomed ships, and they spread their white sails 
to the wind. Again we came to the field of i)lood 
to bury our fallen friends. Uraldo sat by foamy 
I )un-lumar. By his side was Duna-rina, with eyes 
of heavenly hue. She watched the tide of blood. 
Ilis quivering lips foretell its ceasing ebb ; she 
seized his bloodless sword, and plunged it in her 
bosom of snow! lIcMlrew the sword from the 
wound to mix his blood with hers ; but the wound 
of the foe prevailed ! Their spirits fled together 



244 URALDO AND DUNA-EINA. 

to the airy balls of their fathers. Their blood 
marked the place of their graves. AVe placed 
them side by side. Peace nestled in the walls of 
our cots. The foe no longer riots over our land. 
But we meet their sons in peace, and they rejoice 
in our strength. The stranger beholds their 
tomb, and hears the sad tale of their love. He 
sees them still suffering in youth, and waters their 
moss -bound graves with a tear. 



DERICK AND HENDRICK. 

Oft it is said, and oft it seems too true, that 
fairest flowers fade first ; too delicate to touch, 
and finest fruit is early stung, and drops to earth, 
ere the genial sun has ripened into seed. Such 
were the subjects of my story, or such they 
seemed ; glorying in their strength they had 
reached those years when every selfish thought 
must yield to generous, manly pride. Not born 
in luxury's lap, nor often dazzled by the glitter- 
ing ore, they enjoyed the sturdier pleasures 
of an iron age ; they grew in love, as they in 
stature grew, as gay as beautiful, and beautiful 
as strong, and strong as tall, and tall as graceful, 
and graceful as the weeping willow that bends 



DEEICK AND EENBBICK. 245 

before the storm, that it may rise again in all its 
former grace and elegance. Though many a storm 
passed liarmless o'er, yet one there came to which 
they could not bend. Oh ! thou sacred power ! who 
raised the Grecian Muse to mount on high Peg- 
asus ; or thou, soul-inspiring spirit, who breathed 
heavenly sounds on tuneful Maro's harp. Come! 
gentle spirit, to my native soil, and throw before 
my guileless pen thy fancy -flitting dreams, and 
clothe my verse in graceful mourning weeds. 
Young Derick and llendrick for rural sports had 
designed the day to chase the furry race, or 
hunt the feathered flocks. IIow short their sport, 
how near its close, were all their earthh^ joys ! 
Hard by their house a fruitful orchard stood, 
bound by a hedge of elder, thorn, and briers fast 
entwined ; thither along its line they bent their 
way, on this side Derick, — on that llendrick, — 
sought the game. In artful silence thus they 
moved along, each unconscious of his brother's 
tread, till Derick a luckless redbreast spied, and 
with a hunter's motion almost quick as sight, levels 
his piece and aims the fatal blow. 

"Who can describe the feelings of that awful 
shock, none but those that felt ; and those that 
have must die. Without one moment's warning 
of thought or sight, to hear a much loved brother's 
dying groan, and feeling with that loss the awful 



246 DERICK AND HENDRICK. 

deed his own ! Xor thickened briers nor oralline: 
thorns can turn his course, but frantic toward his 
unseen brother flies. Oh ! awful moment of con- 
scious, careless guilt and shame, tlie ready censure 
of a heartless world; with all the mingled passions 
of fraternal love, yet all unequal for the while to 
match his growing soul. Some God has strung 
his arm, some unseen Deity: or else himself a 
God has raised his dying brother from liie ground, 
to interchange one look that told of accident, of 
pardon, love, and hope to meet again beyond the 
grave, then fled that soul and left two bodies in 
its brother's charge, who on his shoulders raised 
the cumbrous weight ; his own unconscious as the 
load it bore; his strength just lasting till tiie 
threshold past, then sinking underneatli the un- 
welcome load, never to pass that door again with 
life. The mournful truth once told he never sjioke 
unbid again : save that he told them " Place light 
the clods upon my brother's tomb, for soon I'll 
follow." In vain they strive to comfort ; every 
solace proves in vain, no nourishment he took 
unless to quiet anxious friends. 'Twas eight long 
weeks before that manly form Avould yield to 
death, yet fast the}' saw him fail, and pined at 
length his life away; and in his death seemed 
pining still. Oh, death ! how keen thy two-edged 
sword. They placed the brothers in one common 



THE PENCIL CUTS OF MY GRAND-PARENTS. 247 

grave—" they were lovely and pleasant in their 
lives, and in their death they were not divided." 

Their aged parent thus of joy bereft, 
No son is theirs, no hope on earth is left : 
Xo more the filial love that warmed the bovs, 
Shall crown tlieir bliss, or sweeten earthly joys: 
Tlieir tomb alone is left for them to view, 
And memory })ainte{l too severely true ; 
No more they toil with comfort for their heirs, 
No treasures gain they by their frugal cares ; 
No more with joy they view the rising sun : 
Careless alike they see his journey run ; 
No more from nature seek a genial ray : 
But pass their life a tedious polar day. 

FROM THE FAMILY BIBLE. 
Derick Ilougliland was born August 21st, 1750. 
Hendrick Houghland ,, ., October 4th, 1753. 
Hendrick Houghland died September 23d, 1770. 
Derick Houghland „ November 18th, 1770. 



ON THE PENCIL CUTS OF MY GRAND- 
PARENTS. 

Time, why has thou swept my fathers off? 

And left those feeble pencil marks so true ; 
Thou seem'st at nature's noblest work to scoff, 

And say, " Weak man, we leave this little toy to 
you." 



248 TO MY OLD MARE. 



CAN I WOUND ANOTHEE BKEAST? 

Can I wound another breast, 

For one that deeply wounded mine? 

Though once I have her power confessed 
No more I'll bow before her shrine. 



TAKE ME, LADY. 

Take me, lady, for your beau, 
The author of this humble line ; 

Simple, by this, you well ma}' know, 
And softer as vour Valentine. 



TO MY OLD MARE. 

Health and strength, the joy of youth, no more 
the friends of thee, poor old mare ; though not 
forsaken, all thy friends are vain ; thee life en- 
cumbers, oft in another's Avay, and always in thy 
own, thou hast no joy to give for care, but will 
not die in debt, even memory of thy former worth 



A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 249 

doth pain ; it minds us of gathering storms : we 
see impending fate. Oh life ! too long they span 
when lengthened out with misery, 'twere better 
in the earh^ bud to blight, than fade and wither 
in the sun and drought ; but I will not blame thy 
Maker with an impious thought, thou hast had 
thy day of glory and renown, and far outlived 
thyself, a ruined temple still remains for proof ; 
a heart of goodness, and an eye of fire— fame for 
the world and pain for thee. 



A DISCOUESE ON INSTINCT AND 
EEASON. 

Instinct is the mind's first natural impulse, 
reason is instinct at a riper age, matured with 
care. The infant man and infant brute are on a 
par, each having barely enough of this gift to an- 
swer their immediate demands ; the brute increas- 
ing rapidly in its physical power is amply satis- 
fied with that increase alone, which vastly pre- 
dominates over its mind and robs it of its growth, 
this physical power remaining strong until the 
whole system is worn out. 

The cultivation of the former faculty is almost 
entirely neglected, possessing just enough to an- 



250 A DfscniniSE 0\ IXSTlXrr AXD UEAflON. 

swer those ends wliicli nntin'O is conslant ly i\o.- 
iiKiiidiiii;", lull man is possi'sscd of a I'ai' dilVcrcnl. 
naUiro, slower in ])liysii'al i;ro\vtli, hutnunx- rapid 
ill montal tliouulit ; starting on a par willi liie 
bruto, yet in lime ho. IxH'onios as widely dillVrent 
jis the cliain (d" natui-ewill admit, and wiiy ^ \\r, 
know that vci^ctahle bodies are injnred by theii- 
t'lost^ ])ro.\imity to one another, ami lliat wImti^ 
thei-e is an e.\ti'em(>ly i'aj>id i:rowlli a minoi* can- 
not llonrish. And this, also, we may observ«> iu 
animals ; esi)eeially in m;in, we S(>ldom nro. oni^ of 
^i^antii- bnlk possessed of ])owerl'id mintl, and 
generally the rnnner, the wrestliM', and the boxer, 
an! otherwis(! inferior men, and the n>ason istiiis, 
they have been early employed in that sort of 
cultivation, and Ihey have left unstirred those 
b(4ter faiadties ; while we often S(^e tluMinfoi-tu- 
nate cripph^ ])oss(^ss(>d of tln^ sti'onj^x^st unnds (of 
which iMexander I'ope is a remai'kable instance). 
T\\r, man seldom i^i-owini;' more than ten j)ound.s 
in a year, leaves an ani|)le ni'owth for that in- 
stinctiv(i faculty with which at, lii-st In^ was so 
seantily sni)plie(l, while (li(> horse, and black cat,- 
tle obtain an enoi-mous bulk in four years, and 
their instinct but little increas(><l from tlM> bee-in- 
ninu; ; the b»rmer has taken all I liei;-rowlh. I'lant 
two trees close to_i;'eth(>r and if <nu5 ^'cls the as- 
cendency over the other it robs it of nearly all its 



A DISCOiruSK ON I NSTI N(^T A NJ) RKASOIV. 2^A 

f^rowlli, lull, if llicir growth is ('(|u:il, (licy may 
lloiii'ish Io^cIIk!!'. 

'IMi('r(5 aro a groat vai'ioty of insLincIs holli in 
mail and beast, c.ich answering tho ends For wliidi 
tliey were formed and the greater tlui variety of 
instincts tlio more rational their conduct, 

Mr. Smellio defines instincts to bo every origi- 
nal (|iiality of iiiiii<l wliidi iirodnccs feeling or 
action wiien the |)fo|»er oltjeet is presented to it. 
l''rom tlio above facts and i-easoiiing, it seems to 
be a|i|)areiit that instincts are original <|iialities 
<if lh(5 mind, tliat (3very ;iniiiial is possessed of 
sonm of these (pialities of mind, tJjat the intelli- 
gence and resources of animals are proportional 
to I lie number of instincts with which I heir minds 
an; endowed, that all animals are in some im^as- 
iii'c! rational Ixmigs, and that the diginly and 
su|»erioi'ity of tin; liiiman intcillect nvc necessary 
i-esiilts, not of tin; coid'ormation of oiir bodii^s, 
but of the great variety of instinct that nature 
has been pleased to confer on our species. 

M. Diipont de N(!Jnours, in an article read l)e- 
fore the National Institute in 1S07, advised to 
drop the term instinct altog(!thcr as the only 
means (tf a-voiding the ro(;l<s on some of which 
every writer has shipwrecked himself, lie as- 
s(5rts that there is in fact no such thing in exist- 
en(;e, and that i^vcvy acti(Ui wliich has hitherto 



252 A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 

been described under such name is the mere re- 
sult of intelligence of thought, habit, example, or 
the association of ideas. 

Brown. There is no such special faculty as 
reason, no ground for the distinction between 
reason and judgment. 

Price ])i'oves there are ideas which cannot be 
resolved into experience, such as the ideas of 
cause, time, space, etc., and must be admitted as 
simple primitive conceptions. 

Locke. There are some brutes that seem to 
have as much knowledge and reason as some that 
are called men. 

Dr. Priestly. With respect to intellect men 
and brutes are born in the same state, having the 
same actual senses, which are the only inlets of 
all ideas and consequently the source of all the 
knowledge and of all the mental habits they ever 
acquire. 

Cousin says reason is spontaneous or in- 
stinctive. 

Fremont's Travels. I have been told by Mr. 
Bent's people of an ox born and raised at St. 
Yrain's Fort, which made his escape from them 
at Elm Grove near the frontier, having come in 
that year with the wagons. They were on their 
way out, and saw, occasional^, places where he had 
eaten and lain down to rest, but did not see him 



A niSCOUliSE ON INSTINCT AND BFASON. 253 

for about seven Iiundred miles, when they over- 
took him on the road traveling along to the fort, 
having unaccountably escaped Indians and every 
other mischance. 

Fremont's Travels. In a broad gully where 
there w^as no indication of water he found holes 
dug by the w^olves about two feet deep; they were 
nice little wells, narrow and dug straight down, 
and contained excellent water. 

Dr. Darwin relates an incident to which he 
was an eye-witness, of a wasp having caught a 
fly almost of her own size ; she cut off its head 
and tail and tried to fly away with the body, but 
finding that, owing to a breeze then blowing, the 
fly's wings were an impediment to her own flight, 
and turned her round in the air, she came to the 
ground and cut off the fly's wings, one after the 
other with her mouth, she then flew away with 
the body. 

In Captain Cook's voyage he has a singular 
instance of sagacity in the use of means in bears 
in their mode of hunting the wild deer ; the bear 
perceives them at a distance by the scent, and as 
they herd in low grounds, w^hen he approaches 
them he gets upon the adjoining eminence, from 
whence he rolls down pieces of rock, nor does he 
quit his ambush and pursue his game until he 
finds that some have been maimed. 



254 A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 

We have glanced at the brute, and now let us 
look to man ; see liini in our western territory but 
little better than the brute, digging roots for a 
scanty subsistence and possessing but little more 
intelligence than the brute. 

Look at them, in the Pacific Islands, look at 
them in * New Holland, living in caves, mixing 
up earth and baking it in the sun which makes 
up a great ]xxrt of their food ; they never in any 
situation cultivate the soil for any kind of food- 
crop, they never rear any kind of cattle or keep 
any domesticated animal exce])t the dog. They 
have nowhere built permanent dwellings but con- 
tented themselves Avith mere hovels for tempo- 
rary shelter, for the most part either bowers 
formed of the branches of trees, or hovels of piled 
logs loosely covered with grass or bark which 
they can erect in an hour whenever they encamp. 
They have neither manufactured nor possessed 
any chattels beyond such articles of clothing, 
weapons, ornaments, and utensils as they might 
carry on their persons, or in the family store bag 
for daily use. Do these men show any superiority 
over the brute ? surely none unless it is in killing 
them, which superiority one brute shows over 
another, and never can be considered a mark of 
intelligence. 

* Now Australia. 



A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 255 

We cannot with any degree of certaint}^ refer 
toman in his primitive state; we have but an 
iinj)erfect history of him, but this we know, that 
whilst the poets have to show man inferior in 
strength of body they have not attempted to 
show him degenerated in mind. 

But let us take the barbarian of tiie present 
a^e ; see him in our western country, the diersrer 
Indians of California, digging root for a scanty 
subsistence and possessing but little more intel- 
lect than the uninstructed brute. 

I mean a particular tribe called diggers. 

In some parts of Africa have been found can- 
nibals, and men who would cut steaks from living- 
animals and let them go to heal or die. Do you 
\vant anything nearer the brute than this ; surely 
'tis but a short link. 

It is not my object to reduce man lower than 
he really is, but to show the effect of moral and 
religious education upon him. 

That all cannot receive an equal share of edu- 
cation is certain, which goes the better to support 
our argument, and we should loath as much to be 
classed with some of these savages as our learned 
friends would be with the brute. 

Peter, the wild man, they attempted in vain to 
educate while many a bird has been learned to talk, 
and many a brute has been taught to understand. 



256 A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 

Would the elephant be in dread if he learned 
the mouse was moved by the same mechanical 
power, even though you could show him, link by 
link, the whole chain of connection ; would he 
have anything to fear from the mouse becoming 
his rival in strength ? 

Just so man stands above the brute and his 
faculties do not differ in kind but in degree ; as 
there is but one sort of physical power, there is 
but one sort of mental : and we do deny the ex- 
istence of any such faculty as reason either in man 
or brute. 

Reason is growing instinct, if not where is 
that mighty faculty at birth ? Man is born with 
a perfect physical system, then why not a mental ; 
where is that embryo monarch that must after- 
wards rule ; is it then the subject of a blind im- 
pulse, does it exist below the faculties of the 
brute or is it then a nonentity ? 

Animals are born with some part of that phys- 
ical strength with which they afterwards attain 
in such perfection, and no one has disputed its 
being the same, but the mind which is the man's 
is denied having any birth at all. 

Sir Isaac Newton, astonished at the instinct 
of animals, ascribed it to the working of a Deity 
within ; and yet would you cull out our meanest 
passions, our lack of reason and call it the work- 



A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 257 

ing of a God ? Is not reason capable of support- 
ing the man ? If so, then man's instinct is an 
useless appendage, the only thing in nature that 
was ever created in vain. 

Our opponent has defined reason to be, the 
power by which we distinguish truth from false- 
hood, if so do not almost all the acts of brutes 
prove them reasonable beings, the bare circum- 
stance of their existing at all clearly demonstrates 
this fact, for without it they would not know 
what food to eat or where to lodge themselves, 
without it they could not have preserved their 
race against the insidious hunter for thousands 
of years. 

Traces of every instinct that man possesses are 
discoverable in the bird or brute creation, and 
the combination of those instincts when well 
balanced make up the perfect mind ; upon such 
apparently mean bases is our reason established ; 
hence we see the brute possesses the fundamental 
principles of understanding ; but further into 
their faculties we cannot see ; they may possess 
principles of understanding that we know noth- 
ing about ; nor ever can know, for the mind can 
comprehend nothing where it has no natural 
ground to work upon ; in this way we may ac- 
count for the mysterious knowledge of many 
insects, the wasp that provides for a generation 
17 



258 A DISCOURSE ON INSTtNCT AND REASON. 

that she is never to see, and that too without an 
example, or justified by her own manner of living. 

Lord Browh^oi says, May not the solitary wasp 
have its organs, and its senses so constructed as to 
receive an immediate gratification from collecting 
and burying grubs ? true they may, but is it not 
more reasonable to suppose that they are pro- 
vided witli faculties to pursue that course which 
nature has designed for them ? We accuse them 
of being very limited in their capacity simply be- 
cause we are not capable of knowing their diver- 
sity of action. How strange it must seem to the 
wild brute to see two persons conversing, and lit- 
tle do they know of the amount of knowledge that 
can be communicated in that way. It is not 
my object to prove a distinct sort of knowletlge 
anion o-st them, but some difference in the forma- 
tion of the organs of their brain, heart, nerve or 
wheresoever their organs of knowledge may be 
located. 

The arm of a man ends in a hand, the horse in a 
hoof, and their action differs as widely as their 
shape; yet they are both governed by the same 
mechanical laws. 

It has been asserted that man's physical organ- 
ization constituted the foundation of his greatness. 

Ilelvetius said, Had the arm of man chanced 
to have ended in a hoof he might yet have been 



A DISCOURSE OiV INSTINCT AND REASON. 259 

fouiul in the wilderness. But I would like to 
differ from that philosopher, first, because I am 
not willing to ascribe anything to chance, and 
secondly, because I saw a boy performing, who 
was born without arms, all the offices of the fin- 
gers with his toes, and his feet did not differ in 
appearance from ordinary feet. In most cases 
\vhere there is a will there is a ^vay. 

The beaver assembles in bodies of several hun- 
dred, and choose a convenient station on a lake or 
small river, regarding all its advantages with as 
much judgment as it could be done by men, com- 
mence building their dam, if one is required, 
gnawing down large trees, sometimes more than 
six inches in diameter at th© place where they cut 
the trunk, and with so much judgment as to fell 
them in tlie direction they want them ; then by 
their united efforts place them where they are 
■wanted to build the dam. 

When finished and flooded, the}^ build their 
huts above the waters of the new lake, to suit 
their convenience, having two apartments ; — one 
part to live in, and the other for the winter 
provisions. 

A RARE SIGHT. 

My father and two cousins were out a-hunting 
for fur, near a beaver dam, and came upon an 



260 A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 

interesting sight. The snow was covered with a 
thin glaze of smooth ice. On a side hill, a short 
distance from the water, were three young beavers 
a-coasting. They would climb the hill to a suitable 
spot, squat on their hind legs, keeping their tails 
under them, and holding the end in their fore- 
paws, and let themselves go swiftly down hill 
with apparent delight and repeating it until they 
were disturbed and then fled for the water. 

Buffon had a single beaver, and it a]:»peared 
rather a stupid animal, which goes to show it's 
education makes the beaver. 

The water moths which get into straw and adjust 
the case so that it can always float, whe it is 
too heavy they add a piece of straw or wood, and 
when too light a bit of gravel. Which of the two 
do you call this. Instinct or Reason ? 

The wild horses have their sentinel Avhile they 
sleep. And the crows their lookout bird while 
they feed. 

In the Gth ward of the city of Kew York about 
1833 or 1834, there was a large dog. If a penny 
■^vas given to him he would go to a certain store and 
buy butter crackers ; he would lay his money down 
on the counter and bark until somebody waited 
on him. The crackers were four for a penny, and 
he would not take one, nor allow any one to touch 
the penny until foui' crackers were laid down ; 



A DISCOURSE ON INSTINCT AND REASON. 261 

then he would pick up his crackers and leave the 
store, much to the amusement of all present. 

REASON IS INSTINCT OF MATURER GROWTH, 

One instinct counteracts and modifies another, 
the instinct fear is often counteracted by am- 
bition, and by resentment ; the instinct anger by 
fear, by shame, by compassion, and sometimes by 
contempt. Of modified, compounded and extended 
instincts there are many examples. Devotion is an 
extension of the instincts of love to the great 
first course or Author of the Universe. Supersti- 
tion is the instinct of fear extended to imaginary 
objects of terror. Hope is the instinct of love di- 
rected to future good. Avarice is the instinct of 
love directed to an improper object. Envy is com- 
pounded of love, avarice, ambition and fear. 
Sympathy is the instinct of fear transferred to 
another, and reflected back upon ourselves. In tliis 
manner all the modified, compounded or extended 
passions of the human mind may be traced back 
to their original instinct. 



262 MY LEADEN SOLDIERS. 



MY LEADED SOLDIERS. 

There are many incidents in life that remind 
me of a circumstance of my childhood. It was of a 
Christmas day, and Santa Claus had supplied me 
with a company of leaden soldiers. There was a 
half-witted fool living in the neighborhood, and 
he was my companion that day. He proposed 
trying how well ni}'- men could stand lire, and 
at once carried his proposition into effect by 
placing a man on the stove, who soon ran into 
shapeless ruin. Nothing daunted by his mis- 
chievous ignorance, he sent another to bring back 
the first. Though loudly remonstrated against he 
continued the sacrifice, and a ]iitched battle 
ensued, the noise of whicli brouglit my mother, 
and I succeeded in retreating with the loss of 
three men, for which I have since been amply 
paid. 

"When I see men running into mad speculations 
that can effect little or no good end, spending their 
time and money in climbing impervious moun- 
tains, trying how far they can penetrate into 
barren sands, sending good men and ships after 



HOME. 263 

the long-lost Franklin, or a nortliwcst passage, 
losing army after army conquering countries 
they have no right to, or cannot hold, venturing 
in business they do not understand, operating 
where the losses must naturally be more than the 
gains, and a thousand smaller follies, I think of 
the fool who, when he saw the second soldier did 
not bring back the lirst, would have continued 
until he had consumed my whole army of leaden 
soldiers. 
Jan. 1853. Daniel Pelton. 



HOME. 



Home that's often embittered by our present ! 
Its memory is always sweetened in the distance, 
like the aged brier bush that loses its thorns, 
l)ut the sweetness of its roses are never forgotten. 
AVhere now is the garden, the orchard, the wild 
paths, and the mossy rocks ? In dreams I behold 
the rolling billows, and the dashing surf, I hear 
the cheerful sound of friends, I feel tlie warm kiss 
of a sister; but I wake to toil and study. Will 
I ever be rejtaid for this ? Am I not sacrificing the 
best blessings of life ? Does education alway make 
us wiser, or study make us happier. Is the student 
happier than the peasant, or kings renowned for 



264 GARIBALDI. 

wisdom ? But pardon my rebellion, I have been 
overcome by my social feelings; I know well it 
raises us above the barbarian. Education is pecul- 
iar to civilization ; it enables us to bear our part in 
society, it is protection, it commands respect, if 
abroad or at home, if well applied, it makes our 
friends dearer, and our homes sweeter. 



GARIBALDI. 

Bkave Garibaldi ! bravest of the brave ! 
Heaven strung thy arm, thy bleeding land to 

save. 
I often thought tbeir spirits were but one. 
The Wallace, Tell, and Godlike Washington : 
And still the si)irit comes on earth again. 
And still the same assumes a magic name ; 
The magic charm infused in every breast. 
The freemen rallies ; tyrants know no rest. 
From hill to hill 3'^ou hear the gen'rous cry, 
And greatful pagans ring along the sky : 
To arms ! to arms ! brave Italy to arms ! 
The Heavens re-echo Avith the loud alarms, 
Shall Latin prowess still forever lie, 
And Rome's proud sons be recreant to theory; 
Shall Tuscan glory calmly fade away. 
Or Venice, cringing, shun the glorious day ; 



TUE VISION. 265 



Is there a spot tliat will not raise the cry : 
Long live tlie chief, and longer Italy ; 
Ye chiefs, arouse ! arouse, Italian race, 
And breath Yesuvian in the tyrant's face ! 



THE YISIOK 

As I was travelling up the steep path of life I 
became weary, and lay me down and slept ; and 
as I slept I dreamt ; and a vision of fancy stood 
in the distance, and it tempted the mind to leave 
the body as it were entranced, and pursued its 
fancy until there was danger of its not returning 
to its former habitation. I saw the soldier, strut- 
ting like a vain bird that hailstones might have 
brought fluttering to the ground, and freed its 
proud spirit from its frail tenement. I saw the 
visionar}' merchant, riding with scorn over his 
fellow-men, where a blast from heaven might 
have swept his proud ship on the rocks, and made 
him an object of pity to the very men he scorned. 
I saw the gambler, pursuing the fool, and sure- 
footed justice close upon hira with her iron grap- 
ples. I saw where the false harlot by artificial 
light, with painted face, had allured the thought- 
less youth, and left him pale with disease, with 



266 THE VISION. 

ruined character, and broken frame, to die ere 
yet be reached the prime of manhood. 

All seemed eager for that pleasure which tlieir 
misguided fancy led them to pursue ; but what 
most attracted my attention, was the reckless 
course of the drunkard, hot with the fumes of wine, 
he bent his course where judgment never directed, 
or caution never trod ; yet often, through the guid- 
ance of an unstx'U spirit, he escaped unharmed, 
save that he had many days in one: insolent and 
loquacious was his tongue, and many and foolish 
were the speeches that he made, yet at times would 
he burst forth more eloquent than sober reason, 
and rushing along like a meteor consuming itself in 
its brightness. He was beset on every side by evil 
si)irits, and seemed the helpless victim of them 
all. His tattered garments lay his bosom bare to 
the storm, and poverty's half-mast flag drooping 
from his rear. Sometime he stood on tiptoe erect, 
then, reeling and staggering, would fall grovelling 
to the ground, and, vomiting, appeared meaner 
than the meanest brute; then rising in wild 
delirium with outstretched arms, and yelling like 
a demon, impetuous rushes forward on every 
danger that presented itself. I shuddered at his 
hair-breadth escapes, but he seemed reckless of 
them all, until at length he spied in the distance 
a precipice, horrible to reason to behold, and by his 



THE VISION. 267 

increasing fury seemed deteniiined to ])rocipitate 
himself in tlie abyss below. Ag-aiii I shuddered 
at the very thouglit, and ran to his I'escue. Swift 
by nature, my speed was increased l)y the cries 
of a wi'etched woman to save him. I could gain 
nothing on him, for his helper was the strength of 
madness, lieaching that jjrecipice 1 hoped to see 
him ])ause a moment, but, daunted at notliing, he 
precipitated liiniself into that awful abyss ; then, 
as though reason had just returned, with out- 
stretched arms, and eyes turned towards heaven, 
he gave one shriek that will ring in my ears till 
memory ceases ; " men may live fools, but fools 
they cannot die." I would have followed him 
with my eyes, but the depth, the darkness, the 
hoi'ror of the act, dimmed my sight, overpowered 
my imagination, and bewildered my brain. Af- 
frighted, I fled back to my former abode, and en- 
tering sudden, I shook tlie body with such convul- 
sions that it forgot its weariness, and springing 
upon my feet we again pursued our journey. 

But the dreamer had not ceased to dream, nor 
the imagination broken its links. For what great 
end was man created ? ^Vhy this joui-ney of life ? 
Surely it was not that man should despise his 
fellowman, or lead him into temptation ; and thus 
cause him to mourn ; but is he not accountable 
who will not listen to the dictates of reason, and 



268 DEBATE ON SECRET SOCIETIES. 

thus avoid many an unforeseen danger. If so, 
then " wo to the crown of pride, to the drunkard 
of Ephraim." I found, as the mind sobered from 
fancy to reason, there was some truth in poetry, 
and fiction was not all false ; and I thought again, 
For what great end was man created ? 



ARGUMENT BEFORE THE RICIIMOXD 
COUNTY ATIIEN^UM. 

DEBATE ON SECRET SOCIETIES 

There are three principal objections to secret 
societies. 

First, the injury they are to the members them- 
selves. Men are called awa}^ from their business 
to attend to the private affairs of these societies 
— they are introduced to compan}^ of a dangerous 
nature. Their meetings are often held at Taverns 
where they are tempted to drunkenness and 
other vices, and if they escape these, the loss of 
time and the expenses incurred by the societies 
are at least twofold more than their advantafjes. 
It has been said how many bless the day they 
joined them — Against them I Avould put those 
that curse it, and expect a large balance. I 
would beg leave here to mention an individual 
case I am acquainted with. An old lady whose 



DEBATE Oy SECRET SOCIETIES. 269 

husband was a iiieinber of three societies, to 
which he had paid enough to have supported her, 
but all of which broke down in a short time and 
left her " the cold hand of public charity." But 
a word for the public ; she had merit and they did 
not let her want. 

But for those great and good men who belong 
to those societies, are they improved by them, or 
is there any thing about them that is calculated 
to improve the morals ? Must we take their laws 
to judge of this ? Surely not, for what Society 
of any character could exist amongst us without 
setting up a moral pretence? Can we judge the 
character of the Jews by the law of Moses ? The 
opposition has assailed the fame of Washington; 
but in milder terms than their republican friends, 
who at his death proclaimed in their several 
papers that "the King of the federal rats is dead." 
And that '' the name of Washington shall cease 
to legalize corruption," but they have exalted 
him to the very heavens, deified him, and placed 
masonry as a diadem. 

Let us judge of these societies by the influence 
they have had upon their members. It is a well 
known fact that the masons have ruined many 
of their members by their contagious corruption. 
As to the secret manner of doing their charity, 
whoever they relieve, secret as it is, it is sure to 



270 DEBATE ON SECRET SOCIETIES. 

be found out ; and at the end of the year they 
are sure to publish the amount of relief they 
have alTordcd. 

Secondly^ the injury they are to the community 
in which they exist. Every individual in the 
community is injured by the existence of these 
selfish societies, the members bound to assist, pro- 
tect and forward the interests of one another, 
and in doing this they draw off their patronage 
and protection from the community at large ; 
men have no right to pledge to a few what they 
owe to the whole. What patronage "we have to 
give should be given according to merit without 
regard to the Society, church, or nation to which 
a man may belong. 

I deny that families are societies. There are 
many things which transpire in families that 
should not be told out-doors, but often are ; but 
whenever it becomes necessary for them to enjoin 
their secrets with the solemnity of an oath, the 
sooner that family is broken up the better it will 
be for the neighborhood in which they live. 

It is said tiiat our Senators and Legishitors are 
sworn ; but are they sworn with any such oaths 
as the members of these societies take ? Do they 
not have the privilege of reading the oath before 
they take it, and cannot any citizen inform him- 
self of the nature of it, if he chooses ? How they 



DEBATE OX SECRET SOCIETIES. 271 

can see in this ii parallel case 1 do nut know; 
surely there is no resenibhmce. 

The character of the State of Massachusetts 
has been assailed because she dared to legislate 
against them ; she has been called the killer of 
witches. Although there is only one case on 
record found and that of a very doubtful char- 
acter, and how my o}){)onent makes this out 
witches, I cannot see ; but as further evidence of 
her folly she opposed the last war* and this ; but 
in that war f which no man doubts the justice 
of, she was foremost. As for the last war with 
England she did not think it policy to tight about 
a few millions when it was going to cost as many 
hundred of millions that we were injured alike by 
England and France, and they were equally 
striving to destroy one another,:}: and that we 
should not spill American blood in the cause of 
those who had done us wrons:. As to the riffht- 
eousness of the present war 1 shall leave every 
man to judge for himself. 

They have employed men to erect buildings and 
keep those buildings shut up, so that they can 
be of no service to mankind, and they have taken 
money to pay for them which, according to their 

* Tlie war of 1812 and the war with Mexico. 
f The waf of the Revolution, 
X The war witli Mexico, 



272 DEBATE ON SECRET SOCIETIES. 

own argument, would liave been otherwise spent 
and thus tliey have worse tlian wasted it : And 
as these societies increase, these evils will be aug- 
mented. AVitli regard to their benevolence they 
assist no more widows and orphans than they are 
obliged to. The case must bean urgent one be- 
fore it comes under their protection, and then 
when they get any considerable number of in- 
cumbents u])on them they are sure to break down. 
The laws of all civilized nations malce provisions 
for their dependent inhabitants equal to the gen- 
erosity of their citizens, and how can it be ex- 
pected that those who have established themselves 
for sellish purposes will do more. And with re- 
gard to education our State has made ample pro- 
vision ; and in those communities where it has not 
been done, I doubt very much whether the mem- 
bers of those societies would think it worth w^hile. 
The men who assisted Mr. Cain I believe would 
have assisted him if they had not been Oddfellows. 
There is no evidence that the good Samaritan be- 
longed to a Society. They often impoverish men 
who are charitably inclined, they cut off the re- 
sources of charity at least equal to all they can ac- 
complish under the most favorable circumstances. 
A man disposed to be charitable can put a dol- 
lar in his pocket and do more good with it than 
these societies commonly do with two; there are 



DEBATE ON SECRET SOCIETIES. 273 

no fees to bo ])ai(l out of it, uiul nothing to be 
paid for banners to trump it about. 

1 am Avillingto acknowledge the antiquity of 
secret societies, and we lioi)e they will be as ready 
to acknowledge the founder, who was no less than 
his Satanic Majesty himself ; His first scheme was 
formed in the abodes of bliss, and it is written so 
charming was the scheme that he drew over one- 
third of the celestial spirits, but, frustrated in that 
scheme, he and his colleagues were lodged in the 
burning lake, the first lodge, and from thence I 
imagine they derived the name of their gloomy 
cells ; but in his true spirit of extension desired to 
have a Lodge in the new formed creation : We 
see him initiating himself in the good graces of 
woman by telling her she is in ignorance and 
pointing to the tree of life and knowledge, and 
there w^e plainly see the strongest feature in these 
societies, and by which they are easily identified 
to be the same. Like that tempting fruit they 
often find the knowledge surcharged with ruin. 

Thirdly. The danger they are to the i-epublic. 
There is no state of things to justify the forma- 
tion of these societies. "Whenever it is necessary 
for men to form themselves into societies for the 
protection of the commonwealth, then there is 
merit enough in the cause to ensure secrecy with- 
out the solemnity of an oath ; and where that 
i8 



274 Debate on secret societies. 

oath is required it is much to be feared tluit the 
motives are impure. The secret societies of 
France have been referred to, aud it has been 
shown that they were in opposition. It has been 
asked which were right, I would answer they both 
were wrong ; they were formed of tlie worst and 
most designing men of both parties, men that 
were not satisfied with the shiughter they liad 
already caused in Europe ; but were willing to sa- 
crifice the last drop of valiant blood in France to 
carry out their own selfish policy. 

They should not be tolerated because of the 
danger of taking an oath before we know the 
nature of it. A man, once sworn, can not reveal 
their secrets, however repugnant they may be to 
his feelings. Though crime and infamy should 
stare him in the face, yet that oath is stronger 
than the love of country or of friends, for should 
he reveal it who would believe a perjured man, or 
who would have him for their friend. Tlie crime is 
not in keeping the secret but in taking the oath. 
But to this they woukl answer they have no 
secrets excejit a few signs by which they know 
one another, but well we know they have. The 
secret of the fate of IMorgan who dared reveal, 
and well they keep it. It is the hankering after 
their secrets that induced many to join them. 
There is no doubt but that they have secret by- 



DEBATE ON SECRET SOCIETIES. 275 

laws which they hold more sacred than the hiws 
of the hind. Not that I would condemn all for 
the fate of Morgan ; I do not believe that the or- 
ganization as a society knows anything about the 
fate of the wretch that violated his oath. I could 
not believe that our Presidents, our Governors, 
our Judges and many others of our best citizens 
would tolerate such an outrage on our civil laws. 
I would rather believe the four men that carried 
away Morgan undertook the act on their own 
responsibility. 

But there are other dangers to be anticipated 
of a still more alarming character, there are' no 
limits to the extent of the schemes which they 
may carry on. They may easily form plans to 
remodel or even to overthrow our republic. They 
are often established by foreigners, and branches 
of societies existing in governments opi>osed to 
the liberal institutions of our own. Schemes 
might be carried on even through the ballot-box, 
and should that fail, sudden and more forcible 
means might be resorted to that would })rove de- 
structive to life and liberty. There are some 
visible things that justify these suspicions, the 
honors of pink, blue and scarlet, are purely foreign, 
and resemble the purchase of squire and knight- 
hood in foreign aristocracies, and not to be found 



276 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

in the free and enlightened institutions of our land. 
Nor are they allowed to address their superiors 
without w^hat they call a suitable regalia, whilst 
the highest tribunal in our land may be addressed 
by the plainest yeoman in his homespun attire. 
Men thus trained to fealty in these nurseries of 
aristocracy may in time be in(kiced to overthrow 
those institutions that once they loved. 



AKGUMETs"T BEFOKE THE RICHMOND 
COUNTY ATIIEN^UM. 

Subject. 

Ought the right of suffrage he extended to the 
hlack i)op Illation. 

Part 1st. 

" When in the course of human events it be- 
comes necessary for one people to dissolve the 
political bonds which have connected them with 
another, and assume among the powers of the 
earth, the separate and equal station to which the 
laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, 
a decent respect to the opinions of mankind re- 
quires that they should declare the causes which 
impel them to the separation. 



RICHMOND COUNTY ATHEN^UM. 277 

" We hold these truths to be self evident ; that 
all men are created equal ; that they are endowed 
by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, 
that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit 
of happiness ; that to secure these rights govern- 
ments are instituted among men, deriving their 
just powers from the consent of the governed ; 
that whenever any form of government becomes 
destructive of these ends, it is the right of the 
people to alter, or to abolish it, and to institute a 
new government, laying its foundation on such 
principles, and organizing its powers in such form 
as to them shall seem most likely to effect their 
safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will 
dictate, that governments long established should 
not be changed for light and transient causes; 
and, accortlingly, all experience hath shown that 
mankind are more disposed to suffer while evils 
are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolish- 
ing the forms to which they are accustomed. 
But when a long train of abuses, and usurpations, 
pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a 
design to reduce them under absolute despotism, 
it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such 
government, and to provide new guards for their 
future security." 

Such was the declaration of our fathers, when 
they woukl bear no longer their sufferings ; to 



278 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

this they added a long train of grievances, the 
third article of which reads thus : 

" He has refused to pass other laws for the ac- 
commodation of large districts of peo])le, unless 
these people would relinquish the right of repre- 
sentation in the legislation ; a right inestimable 
to them, and formidable to tyrants only," 

Such were the grievances that urged them to 
battle, they did not hesitate to jeopardize their 
lives and fortunes, and the world aj)})]au(led them 
for their deeds ; but the poor negro is not only 
deprived of his rights, and oppressed far beyond 
what our fathers were, but the}^ are not allowed 
to hold up their head when they come before us, 
lest their strong effluvia offend the delicate 
nerves of the paler species. 

Are they not men ; are they not the seed of 
Adam, and consequently our brethren ? Can their 
color disqualify them for voting, or are they not 
possessed of intellectual faculties sufficient to 
guide them ? That they are men is sufficiently 
proved by their intermingling with our race, that 
they are the seed of Adam, I trust will be readily 
granted. Then as it regards color disqualifying 
a man to vote, this leads to the inquiry into the 
cause of color. 

The middle skin of the black man is found to 
contain small vessels of dark coloring matter 



BICHMOND COUNTY ATHENAEUM. 279 

wliich sliines througli tlie outer or scarf-skin and 
gives that complexion which is so offensive. If 
color, then, is to be the criterion by which we are 
to judge voters' qualifications, where are w^e to 
draw the line of distinction ? If we are very nice 
about it, many a yellow-hided fellow who has 
hitherto called himself a white man, will be in 
serious danger of losing his vote. 

AVliat is color ? The best ])hilosophy we have 
on colors, is that every color that is not visible 
has been absorbed into the substance, and hence 
it appears that black is the only color that will 
not penetrate the negro ; or I should say the 
combinations that produce the negro's color are 
repulsed at his wall, wliilst the white man it may 
enter to the very inner chambers of liis heart — the 
truth of which is too often proved by the black- 
ness of his deeds. But I must not be too hard on 
my own color, but let it rest by giving you the 
remark of a friend, " that it does not make any 
more difference in the color of a man than it does 
in that of a horse, or a dog." A Turkish charge- 
(P Affaires, remarked, " Xo Turk ever despisetl a 
man on account of his skin." 

Amongst the Turks and Persians, negroes rise 
to the highest offices in the state. 

It does not appear to me that color can qualify 
or disqualif}^ a person for voting, if so the Albino 



•286 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

should have two votes, though his parents were 
as black as the ace of spades. 

Should the white man vote because white skin 
is beautiful ? Ask the toad what is beautj^ — the 
great beauty, the To kalon ; he will answer that 
it is his female, with two great round eyes coming 
out of her little head, her large flat mouth, her 
yellow belly, and brown back. Ask a negro of 
Guinea : beauty is to him a black oily skin, sunken 
eyes, and a flat nose ; nor is the Guinea negro 
alone in his notions of beaut\\ Herodotus, whom 
Cicero calls " the father of history," tells us the 
Ethiopians excelled all other nations in longevity, 
stature, and personal beaut}^, and that they ap- 
pear to be a superior species of our race. 

The black prince Memnon, who served the 
Trojans, is constantly spoken of by the Greek 
and Latin writers as a person of extraordinary 
beauty. Among the Greeks and Romans there 
does not appear to have been any prejudice against 
color, neither do they speak of the inferiority 
of their intellect, they have not classed them 
amongst those innumerable hordes of hyper- 
borean barbarians from whom we have the honor 
of being descended, it is a prejudice that has 
grown up within a few centuries, it is a discovery 
that has been chiefly made since the discovery of 
America, and has principally grown out of that 



EICHMOND COUNTY ATHEN^UM. 281 

circumstance. Men went into the imboly busi- 
ness of enslavinf>' men, and then des])ised them 
for wearing" their chains: and it is impossible to 
do away with shivery and persecution in tbe 
south, until prejudice against color is done away 
in the north ; and in order to accomplish this, 
now that he is no longer a slave, but has become 
a freedman, make him a voter, and it will ])e 
necessary to court his favor, which will have a 
great tendency to do away with that prejudice. 

To so great an extent has this prejudice been 
carried that for a long time the colored people 
were not allowed to travel on our railroads, or 
steamboats, and now they are not admitted into 
a berth, though they should be dying for want 
of it. Mr. Wright, a colored man, lost his wife 
from such exposure. 

Those hordes of paupers that land on our 
shores, after a time, though not self-sustaining, 
are allowed to vote, while the negro who has 
proved he can not only sustain himself, but also 
his indolent master, is not allowed that privilege. 

Audit is from that class of citizens there comes 
a loud clamor, the object of which seems to be, 
to keep, if possible, a caste of Americans lower 
than themselves. 

But perchance I am too hard on that class of 
foreigners, whose intellect, after all, may be of 



282 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

that same raw, barbaric character, but not so 
mildl}' put, as the native xVfricans who tokl Man- 
go Park, that " his was a great misfortune to be 
so ugly and pale, have such a long nose, and thin 
lips/' 

It is true that there appears to have been some 
of this pi'ojudice among the Jews, against color; 
but tell us what the}^ were not prejudiced against? 
they were ])rejudiced against the God of their 
fathers, who brought them up out of the land of 
Egypt, and delivered them from bonchigc ; but it 
is singular they should have had a ])rejudice 
against a color that so closely proximated to their 
own. 

Said Solomon in his Song of Songs, chapter 1st, 
6th verse : 

" I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of 
Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of 
Solomon. 

" 6. Look not upon me, because I am black, be- 
cause the sun hath looked upoTi me : m\' mother's 
childi'cn were angry with me; they made me the 
keeper of the vine\'ards ; but mine own vineyard 
have I not kept. 

" 7. Tell me, O thou whom mv soul loveth, 
where thou feedeth, where thou makest thy flock 
to rest at noon ; for why should I be as one that 
turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions ? " 



RICHMOND COUNTY ATHEN^UM. 283 

Oh, how strikingly that one passage reminds us 
of the colored man in the south, " they made me 
the keeper of the vineyards ; but mine own vine- 
yard have I not kept." 

So sang the sacred old book, in its raptures of 
love ; and now for the new. 

Acts, the tenth chapter, 2Sth verse. Peter to 
Cornelius : 

.... "Ye know how that it is an unlawful 
thing for a man that is a Jew to keep company, 
or come into one of another nation ; but God 
hath showed me that 1 should not call any man 
common or unclean." 

And again in the same chapter, 34th and 35th 
verses. 

"34 , Of a truth, I perceive that God is 

no respecter of persons : " 

" 35. But in every nation, he that feareth him, 
and worketh righteousness, is accepted with 
him." 

That prejudice against color, no doubt, arose 
among the Jews from the dislike they had to the 
Egyptians, who had o[)pressed them ; for Hero- 
dotus tells us the Egyptians were black, with 
curled hair. 

'Now, with regard to intellect, does our Consti- 
tution require that a man shall be intelligent to 
give him a right to vote ? if so, why are they not 



284 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

checked in thousands of cases ; men who, from 
lack of energy, capacity, or morality, are crowd- 
ing our almshouses and jails ; and not only these, 
but thousands of those who make up the popula- 
tion of our land are equally unintelligent; I 
would not send you in search of them over the 
extent of our bro;id domain ; but I would refer to 
our degenerate Iluffuenots, men who have had in- 
struction witliin their grasp, if they chose to lay 
hold of it. I woukl have you compare them with 
the uninstructed negro, quick, briglit, and jwlite, 
and naturally fond of sublime language, with the 
stupid, conceited, and uncouth native, whose only 
boasted knowledge is the road to Virginia, and 
should you doubt their intelligence by way of 
proving it they will tell you they " know blue 
pint isters from Okl Yegena's. 

" A race of rugged mariners are these, 
Unpolished men, and boisterous as their seas ; 
The native islanders alone their care. 
And hateful he that breathes a foreign air." 

It is not from a dislike to this people that I 
have brought them up in my argument, but it is 
because the}'' are at hand, and every one knows 
the truth of it. But should they adopt the proper 
course, they might again be restored to their an- 
cient intelligence ; by their present negligence to 



RICHMOND COUNTY ATHEN^UM. 285 

education, the world no doubt is deprived of 
many a star that would brighten the fame of our 
island, and render important services to mankind. 

'' Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

And may not the negro again be brought to 
his former intelligence ? I will inquire of the 
monuments of anti(]uity what was the wisdom of 
of former ages. Thebes with its hundred gates 
stands a perpetual monument of the intelligence 
of the negro, they were the fathers of arts and 
sciences. Ethiopia was the nursery of knowledge 
when the rude white man hunted the tusky boar; 
it was the negro that first broke the path to 
science, and searched through "nature up to 
nature's God. He was religious, moral, and intel- 
ligent. 

"The Thebans," says Diodorus, "considered 
themselves as the most ancient people of the earth ; 
and asserted that with them philosophy origin- 
ated, and the science of the stars. 

" Their situation, it is true, is infinitely favorable 
to astronomical observation, and they have a 
more accurate division of time into months and 
years, than other nations." 



286 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

Wliat Diodorus says of the Thebans, every 
author, and himself elsewhere, repeats of the 
Ethiopians. 

" The Ethiopians conceive themselves (says he) 
to be of greater antiquity than any other nation ; 
and it is probable, that born under the sun's path, 
its wanntli may have ripened them earlier than 
other men, 

" They suppose themselves also to be the invent- 
ors of divine worship, of festivals, of solemn as- 
semljlies, of sacrifices, and every other religious 
practice. 

*' They affirm that the Egyptians are one of their 
colonies, and that the Delta, which was formerly 
sea, became land by tiie conglomeration of the 
earth of the liigher country, which was washed 
down by the Nile. 

" They have, like the Egyptians, two species of 
letters, hieroglyphics and the alphabet ; but 
among the Egyptians the first was known only 
to the priests, and by them transmitted from father 
to son ; whereas both species are common among 
the Ethiopians. 

" The Ethiopians,'' says Lucian, " were the first 
who invented the science of the stars, and gave 
names to the planets, not at random and without 
meaning, but descriptive of the qualities which 
they conceived them to possess ; and it was from 



mCllMOND COUNTY ATHEN^UM. 287 

them that this art passed, still in an imperfect 
state, to the EgTi)tians." 

It wouUl be easy to multiply citations upon this 
subject ; from all which it follows, that we have 
the strongest reason to believe that the country 
neighljoring to the tropic, was the cradle of the 
sciences, and of consequence that the first, learned 
nation, was a nation of blacks; for it is incontro- 
vertible that by the term Ethiopians the ancients 
meant to represent a peo])lc of black complexion, 
thick lips and wooly hair. 

Homer corroborates the statements of the 
other authors ; he speaks of them as a people " re- 
nowned for justice, and for length of da3"s, and 
he describes Jove himself as partaking in their 
religious rites, he says : 

Tlie sire of Gods and all tlie etliereal ti'ain, 
On tlie warm limits of the furthest main 
Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace 
The feasts of vEtliiopia's blameless race : 
Twelve da^'s the powers indulge the genial rite. 

And now that we have proved that the negro 
was once intelligent, what is to hinder him from 
becoming so again ; what an acquisition he would 
then be to our republic ; he would pa}^ part of 
our taxes ; bear his share of the burdens of gov- 
ernment, and greatly strengthen us against our 
foreign enemies. 



288 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

The negro should have a vote, because univer- 
sal suffrage is the order of the day ; and its be- 
nign influence should be extended to him ; he 
should have a vote because he is a democrat in 
his principles, and a liberal democracy is the pre- 
vailing sentiment of the people, he should have a 
vote, in order to strengthen that principle; for 
there cannot in the annals of histor}^ be found a 
single instance where a people have enjoyed un- 
interrupted liberty without the privilege of the 
elective franchise. 

Where their votes cannot repel it, useless labors 
are heaped upon men ; splendid temples, and 
palaces, are built that can be of no essential 
benefit to mankind, huge pyramids have been 
erected, stones, weighing hundreds of tons have 
been elevated to a great height which never 
could have been done, had the people who were 
compelled to do it had the privilege of voting 
against it. 

And now whilst the poor white man has his 
share of liberty he should extend it to the negro, 
lest by some contrivance the rich should get 
their foot upon his neck, and he should never be 
relieved. Unless the negro is represented in our 
legislature their liberty is in jeopardy ; and the 
only way to make them sure of that representa- 
tion is to give them a voice in the ballot-box, that 



RICHMOND COUNTY ATHEN^UM. 289 

the legislators may be compelled to do them jus- 
tice through the dread of their influence. 

The negro should have a vote in the north for 
the bearing it will have upon slavery in the 
south ; for it is by the influence of the north alone 
that emancipation in the south can be accom- 
plished. The history of three thousand years has 
been sufficient to prove that man of his own ac- 
cord will never liberate man : he who will not take 
a lesson from the past must blunder through the 
world on faithless hope. 

The negro should have a vote to reimburse him 
for the sufferings that our fathers have heaped upon 
him. 

The poor negro torn from his native land, not 
as our fathers were, with the prospect of liberty, 
but riven from their families, their friends, and 
their homes, were loaded w^ith chains, scourged 
with lashes, oppressed, and in many cases killed 
with labor. 

These heinous sins of our fathers are terrible to 
reflect upon ; and unless we change our course 
there must be an awful fate awaiting this nation, 
for there is preciselv the same scenes going on 
daily within our territories. Yast numbers of 
traders are traveling through our land, wdiose 
business is to buy every negro that is offered : 
and daily is the father or mother separated 
19 



290 AltGUMENT BEFORE THE 

from their family never to behold them again, 
and children severed from their ]xirents, and 
every social tie, whilst the cries of compassion 
are only repaid by the wicked oaths, and cruel 
scourges, of the ruthless white man. Our Hag is 
the true emblem of American liberty, her stars 
s^nine forth for the favored Anglo-Saxon, and 
her stripes for the poor persecuted negro. 



AEGUMEXT BEFORE THE RICHMOND 
COUNTY ATIIEN^UM. 



SUBJECT. 



Ought the right of suffrage he extended to the Hack 
pojmlation. 

Part 2d. 

"With what reluctance my opponent took hold 
of this subject, how strong were his feelings of 
sympathy for that unfortunate people, he did not 
projiose the question, he did not volunteer to 
serve on the negative ; I know he is not exerting 
every faculty to carry his argument. 

But fardifferent are the feelinirs tlint ]irompt me 
on ; with joy I assist the wretciied, and never 



RICHMOND COUNTY ATHEN^UM. 291 

raised a stahvart arm against the oppressed. I 
know it is better to go Avith the multitude to do 
evil, than to incur popular odium in resisting it : 
but, be the consequence what it may, I will prose- 
cute my argument in a firm and fearless manner. 
Many men have not dared to advocate their cause 
for fear of an ignorant, and worthless rabble, and 
often when they have dared to do it, have 
their houses been stoned for daring to advocate 
the cause of the down-trodden sons of Africa. 

As the first objection wns to equality, I shall 
endeavor to prove it : the Creator has given to 
all men the same organs, the same sensations, 
and the same wants : and has thereby sufficiently 
declared that he has also given them the same right 
to the use of its benefits, that in the order of na- 
ture all men are equal. 

Inasmuch as this power has given to every 
man the ability of preserving and maintaining his 
own existence, it clearly follows that all men are 
constituted independent of each other, that they 
are created free, that no man can be subject and 
no man sovereign, but that all men are the un- 
limited proprietors of their own persons. 

Equality, therefore, and liberty, are two essen- 
tial attributes of man ; two laws of the Divinity, 
not less essential and immutable than the 
physical properties of inanimate nature, equality 



292 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

and liberty, constitute the physical and unalterable 
basis of every union of men in society ; and of 
consequence the necessary, and generating prin- 
ciple of every law, and regular system of gov- 
ernment. 

It is because this basis has been invaded, dis- 
orders have been introduced amongst societies, 
which has at length excited them to resistance, 
it is by acting in conformity with this rule that 
you can reform abuses, and constitute a happy 
order of society. 

Look to the heavens that gives you light, to 
earth that nourishes you. Since they present to 
3'^ou the same gifts, since the Power that directs 
their motion has bestowed on you the same life, 
the same organs, the same wants, lias it not also 
given you the same right to the use of its benefits, 
has it not therefore declared you to be all eipial 
and free ? What mortal then shall dare refuse to 
his fellow creature that which is granted him by 
nature ? Let us banish all tyranny, and since man- 
kind are all constituted alike, let there therefore 
exist but one law, that of nature, one code, that 
of reason, and but one tribunal that of justice ! 

And next with regard to property qualifica- 
tions, has not the poor man an equal love of 
country, of friends, and the prosperity of the 
community ; has he not all at stake, and is not 



ntCHMOND COUNTY ATHUN^UM. 293 

his means of living as precious to him, as the rich 
man's fortune, who in many cases would destroy 
the free institutions of our land to perpetuate that 
fortune to his posterity ? 

Is he" more intelligent than the poor; is it to 
be supposed that a man Avho has devoted liis 
whole life to the gathering of riches can be as 
intelligent, as he that has devoted jiart of that 
time to the acquiring of knowledge ? Look at the 
biography of intelligent men, ])hilosophers, and 
politicians ; and is- it not a rare instance to find 
one that ever accumulated a fortune? It is true 
that some have inherited them, and some have 
enjoyed the benevolent gifts of the rich, who 
wished to be immortalized by them, but by far 
the greater part have lived and died in poverty. 

An old anecdote leads me to the following : 
suppose two men starting in tiie workl together, 
the one marries, and devotes his whole substance 
to the rearing and educating of his family, the 
other remains single, and employs his strength 
in the raising of donkeys, when he has reared a 
sufficient number of them he sells them, and pur- 
chases property, now who is best entitled to a 
vote, the man who has replenished his country 
with useful citizens ; or the man that has stocked 
it with jackasses ? 

Those countries have enjoyed the greatest 



294 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

liberty whose locality has prevented the accumu- 
lation of riches. " Who are they, whose ances- 
try in their present localities stretches backward 
till its fading memorials out-measure not only all 
that has been written, but all that has been 
erected in brick or in marble, or in the aged 
granite itself, the primeval father of mountain, 
and of rock ? 

" Are they the inhabitants of fertile plains 
spreading wide their productive bosoms to tlie sun, 
rich in flocks and herds, thronged with villages 
and joyous with cities and palaces ? I trow not ! 
They are the men of the mountain ; and if there is 
love of country upon earth, you will find it where 
there is only a mountain pine, a mountain goat, 
and a mountaineer, as fast rooted and as firm 
footed on the rock as either. 

" Glance your eye over Asia, and yon shall find, 
that while conquest, and change of race, have 
swept the plains of Euphrates, and Ganges, like 
a flood, and the level steppes of Siberia like the 
north wind. Caucasus, and llinuilaya, have re- 
tained their people, and their tuneful cliffs echo 
the same language as they did in the days of the 
patriarchs. And who, too, had footing on the 
Alps before the Swiss, or on the Pyrenees before 
the Basques ; and how long did the expiring 
sounds of the Celtic language wail among the 



nWBMOND COUNTY ATHENJEUM. 295 

Cornish rocks, after the lowland of England had 
become Eoman, Saxon, Dane, and Xorraan, by 
turns, and the mingling of a five-fold race had 
given to the country the most capable population 
under the sun ? Turn whithersoever we will on 
tlie surface of the globe, or in the years of its 
history, the discovery is ever the same." 

In order to perpetuate independence our nation 
must not become too rich, Lycurgus knew this 
fact and established equality among his adherents. 

Such is the true spirit of aristocracy, that it 
matters not whether a man is Christian, or Turk, 
white or black, if he only has property, they 
would give him a vote, if he has money, they will 
give him influence, yea, if he has wealth enougli, 
they would sell him your very liberty ; think not 
because you have a vote yourself, you should be 
deaf to the rights of the negro ; but remember 
that he has once had a vote, and lost it, and there 
is no more impossibility in any other distinct class 
of people losing theirs ; wherever the designing 
crafts of the rich shall enable them to excite a 
sufficient prejudice against one another, and thus 
by degrees may your liberties be wrenched from 
you. 

Do not compromise liberty, or justice, give to 
every negro a vote, or do not allow them to vote 
at all. 



296 ARGUMENT BEFORE THE 

They are not required to bear arms, and why ? 
Because we have oppressed and abused them until 
we are afraid of a just retaliation ; but the negro 
is brave and willing to defend his country. There 
arc numerous instances of this, one of which, I 
shall relate : A negro on board the Constitution, 
who while loading a cannon had both his arms shot 
off, said to his comrades, " I can be of no more 
service to my country," and plunged into the 
deep. 

They are not obliged to serve as jurymen, 
neither do they get justice done them when they 
come in our courts. 

That the negro is incapable, or is not yet quali- 
fied, let us compare him with the electors of 
Mississippi ; of the white i)opulation that are over 
twenty-one, but one-twentieth part can read ; 
how does that compare with the state of our 
negroes? If they are not naturally intelligent, 
why do the laws of the slave states punish a man 
for teaching them to read ? In Virginia it is forty 
stripes, and six months' imprisonment for the first 
offense. 

If they are not intelligent, why do you send 
your missionaries among them ? If they are not 
worthy to come among men, and be treated as 
rational beings, how can you expect them to be 
received by your God. 



RICHMOND COUNTY ATHENAEUM. 297 

By giving liiin a vote, he will make it his busi- 
ness to understand our government, wljieh will 
increase his intelligence; it will give him con- 
fidence in our institutions, it will induce him to 
accumulate property, and thereby enable him to 
labor for himself, and thus diminish the number 
of dependent laborers, who are continually mak- 
ing the rich richer. 

Foreigners are required to be in the country 
five years, to qualify them for voting ; and many 
of them in that time do not learn our lanirnaoe : 
many of them land upon our shores in ignorance, 
and settle in the wilderness among a people more 
ignorant, if possible, than themselves, and it is 
necessary to give the negro a vote to counter- 
balance their destructive influence. I speak of 
the hordes of rabble only, that are poured in upon 
us. Among us there are many intelligent men 
Avhom I highly respect. 

Our friend has attracted the attention of the 
ladies by pleading, or rather burlesquing, their 
cause ; but I would place them in political, as St. 
Paul has placed them in religious, affairs, "Let 
your women keep silent in the churches, for it is 
a shame for a woman to speak in the church." 

But who that has read the lives of female 
sovereigns can doubt their capacity when they 
devote their attention to it ; but he has extended 



298 ABGUMENT BEFORE THE 

his sympathy still further, to Avhat he calls the 
"colored ladies," but for my part I have no pre- 
dilection for them, but shall leave their friend to 
plead their cause. 

He would not give the negro a vote, because, 
"it is a great tiling to be a Roman citizen." 

Are we less Koman because he is made more ? 
Is he not as much a man of Tarshish as we are ? I 
like that part of your argument well, let him pro- 
claim himself an American, and a voter, and let 
that be an ample protection for him ; that the 
lawless mob may not fall u]wn him, and beat him 
without any cause, or provocation ; for you have 
seen the pale ruffian of Kew York fall upon them 
and beat them in a cruel and merciless manner 
for no other than the sin of being black. IMen for 
daring to advocate their cause have had their 
houses stoned, their furniture piled in the street 
and burned ; they have dared to mar, and at- 
tempted to fire the Holy Sanctuaries of God, be- 
cause it was the opinion of their preacher that 
our Saviour was a dark-complexioned man. 

As it regards the increase of their population, 
I have not been able to ascertain the facts, but 
common fame reports them to be fast decreas- 
ing, that they cannot stand our northern climate, 
so I think we have little to fear on that head ; 
but T have ascertained some facts as it regards 



RICHMOND COUNTY ATHENAEUM. 299 

their increase in the south, and it will show the 
fearful advance of slavery in our nation. 

In seventeen liundred and ninety the number 
of slaves in the Union was five hundred thousand, 
and it is now three million ; so we have more 
slaves amongst us now than there was freemen in 
the revolution. We may close our eyes to the his- 
tory of their wrongs, their unrequited labor, and 
unrevenged injuries, but the curse will fall upon 
us at last. 

" Vengeance divine to punish sin moves slow, 
The slower is its pace, the surer is its blow," 

But in the north we have nothing of this in- 
crease to fear, they will not increase from immi- 
gration. No African of his own accord would 
come to this country, for our iniquity has reached 
the furthest corners of the earth ; for, said a 
heathen of the Pacific Islands, I will not become 
a Christian for fear you will make me a slave, nor 
will the report cease with the bounds of the 
earth ; the cry shall go up to Him that knows no 
distinction of color ; for believe me, brothers of 
the Athenieum, though you have often heard 
their black souls damned, they are as white as 
ours. 



LETTERS. 

New York, :N"ov. 23, 1S99. 
My dear IMr. Peltox : — 

I liave read with interest and ])leasure your 
book of poems ; to the careful reader they appeal 
less to the sense of the critic than to the heart 
of the friend. The greater number are pervaded 
by that sweet sense of religion that impresses the 
thoughtful one and immediately brings into ques- 
tion the life of the author. Alas ! among our 
most widely read and standard writers, how often 
the knowledge of some dark cloud above the 
horizon of that life spoils for us the beauty of the 
thought embodied in the verse I As we scan the 
lines of the beloved bard, so well known throuirh- 
out our rural " Island of the States," w^e feel that 
the fountain whence these rivulets of thouirlit 
have found their rise is crystal pure and deep, 
the career of the writer above reproach. 

When the poet shall have iinished his last song 
and laid aside the pen to take the palm, we who 
remain shall take up the book, the precious me- 
mento of his life-work, and read again these lines : 

" Through storm and calm, through life and dark, 
And joys and ills. Thou guid'st our bark, 
And when at length the strife is past, 
There is the Haven sought at last ! 

From'' The Storm,'' 187S. 
Sincerely yours, 

Read Benedict." 
301 



302 LETTERS. 

Richmond, Va., July 9th, 1897. 

Danl, Pelton, Esq., Staten Island. 

My dear Sir, 
I have the pleasure of acknowledging the receipt 
of your "Greenwood and other Poems" and I 
desire to express to you the pleasure I have de- 
rived from tlieir perusal. You have deservedly 
earncnl the sobriquet of "The Poet of Staten 
Island." It has l^een truly said, " Poeta nascitur 
n(m lit " for no one who has not the divine affla- 
tus can successfully enter this fori>idden field or 
gain admission into the portals of the Muses. 
Your talents in the poetic line are as versatile 
as your fancy and as lively as your imagination. 
A brief glance at your poems has unearthed 
many hidden treasures. — " The Pomp of Wealth " 
is worthy of the Christian ]>hiiosoj)her without 
in any way reflecting the indilTerence of tlie 
stoic, — it is worthy of a J'ope. " Lamentation " 
is also a very sweet embodiment of philosophic 
thought ! The line on page forty-one, 

" Tl)e scene all fancy, but the fancy true " 

is worthy of a Longfellow ! Your " Concluding 
Elegy " is a very sweet little ])oem ; " The Storm " 
is also very good. " My Okl Shoes " is in quite 
a diflferent vein from most of your poems, and 



LETTERS. 303 

reminds me of John. G. Saxe, in his best day. If 
your book contained nothing else but that beau- 
tiful tribute : " To the memory of Burns "—poor 
Bobbie Burns, it would be worth preserving. 

" Did you ever marry yet " was evidently drawn 
from the realms of the imagination, and not from 
personal experience,— the Uceiitia vat urn of the 
poet,— for knowing as well as I do the lovely 
woman, you have been so fortunate as to secure 
as your life's companion, with — 

" Tliose sparkling eyes, that polished brow 
That almost heavenly grace." 

She could not be the " scolding woman " of your 
poem. 

Thanking you for the book, I am, 

Very sincere!}', 

J. S. Moore. 



Richmond, Va., January 15th, 1898. 

My dear Sir, 
Permit me to congratulate you on having at- 
tained so great an age, and I doubly congratu- 
late you on the fact that in your case it is not 
attended with the usual afHictions incident to and 
attendant upon long life, and that your " eye is 
not dim nor your natural force abated," and that 



304 LETTERS. 

in your " strength there is not labor and sorrow." 
Under ordinary circumstances it might be con- 
sidered obtrusive and ill-timed to offer my felici- 
tations on this occasion to one with whom I have 
no personal acquaintance, but the mind is bound 
by no narrow horizon, thought eliminates space, 
and there can be communion of soul with soul, 
spiritual intercourse, intellectual aj)preciation 
without physical contact or personal recognition ! 
And wdien I look upon 3^our venerable })liilosoph- 
ical and classic features, I recognize that catholi- 
city of ideas, that thread of thought, that broth- 
erhood of fellowship that makes all the world 
akin. And I feel as though 1 knew you and that 
my greeting will not be misinterpreted or mis- 
construed. It is said, you know, that great minds 
run in the same channel, and there is a free- 
masonry of intellect that is recognized by kindred 
spirits ! There seems to be a curious fatality or 
coincidence in connection with your destiny and 
the name of Franklin, for I am told you were born 
on the birthday of that distinguished patriot, and 
born on Franklin street and married a Franklin ; 
and I can but attribute that coupled with regular 
habits and a virtuous life, your longevity to the 
fact that you followed the advice given to David 
in his old age, "to take unto himself a young 
virgin," that to her cherishing and ministrations 



LETTERS. 305 

is due the preservation of your physical and 
mental vigor, and this conviction is confirmed 
when I read those ardent lines : — 

TO SOPHIE. 

" I've thought of thee a thousand times 
Since I beheld thy face ; 
Those spai'kling eyes, that polished brow, 
That almost heavenly grace. 

" Oh no ; I've thought of thee but once ; 
In one unbroken chain 
Are bound my day -thoughts and my dreams 
In fancy's burning flame." 

In this busy, bustling life it is rare to attain the 
age allotted unto man, three score and ten ; but 
to bean octogenarian is quite a distinction, partic- 
ularly when coupled Jlens sana in cor pore sano,* 
and when one's brow is decked with the Poet's 
Laurel, and one's name is honored with the sobri- 
quet of " The Sage of Staten Island." 

May you live many years ! And when you are 
gathered to your fathers may the turf rest lightly 
on your grave and your spirit be wafted on 
angelic pinions to the God who gave it. 

Yery sincerely, 

J. S. MOOKE. 
To Daniel Pelton, Esq. 
Staten Island, X. Y. 

* A sound mind in a sound body. 



306 LETTERS. 

Madison, Feb. 13, 1897, 
Daniel Pelton, Esq., Staten Island, N. Y. 

My dear Sir : 

A few weeks ago I received your beautiful vol- 
ume, and have delayed acknowledgment until 1 
could find leisure to enjoy the perusal of the poems 
it contains. They are tender, pathetic, sweet, 
and that is the only kind of poetry for which I 
care. Such poetry has been one great comfort 
and solace of my life, and now, in my oKl age, 
is more precious than ever. Hence I prefer Mrs. 
Hemans to ]\[ilton, and Mr. Pelton to the Iliad. 

So I thank you for your thoughtful courtesy, 
and am doubly thankful to your estimai)le wife 
for inspiring tlie ])ublication of the volume, and 
for prompting you to send it to me. 

Hoping we may be permitted to meet before 
one of us makes the final journey to some " Green- 
wood." And with kindest regards to Mrs. J\!lton, 
and yourself (in which my good wife coi'dially 
joins) 

I remain, 
Very sincerelv vour friend, 

Wm. p. Lyon. 



LETTEJiS. 307 

From tlie TIev. L. II. Angiek, D. D., 
612 Tremont Street, 

Boston, Sept. 23, 1897. 
Dear Mrs. Pelton : 

I was delighted to get ^^oiir kind letter of the 
20tli, it revived pleasant memories. I beg to as- 
sure your good husband that your octogenarian 
friend is not a mythical but a veritable person- 
ality, of avoirdupois about 180, and age 87^ from 
1810. After returning from Saratoga I was a 
little under the weather for a few days, and then 
getting affairs in order for my departure to Port- 
land and Peak's Island, fifteen minutes from P., 
to join friends, etc., ])assing several days, visiting, 
preaching, and variously enjoying the ministra- 
tions of natural and social life. Since my return 
from Maine, much of my time has been taken up 
with ])lans and movements for more desirable 
winter-quarters,which twodaysago I decided upon, 
and the fore ])art of next week I expect to make 
the change. When that is all over I shall have 
more time for my correspondents, reading, etc. 

Were you to see the l)ook your good husband 
so kindly sent me, witli its pencil marks, and cor- 
ners turned down, you would have no doubt of 
the pleasure and ]iastime I have experienced in 
the reading, notably " New Grounds," etc. But 
more of this at my leisure. 



308 LETTERS. 

I write this in great haste, that you may hear 
from me before Sunday. 

With kindest regards to Mr. Pelton and Mrs. 
Claven, if she is still with you, 

Most cordially yours, 

L. II. Angier, 
Kext week at 160 Concord Street. 



From Sir Koderick W. Cameron. 

New York, February 11, 1898. 
Dear Mr. Pelton : 

After continued search, I am happy to report 
that I have found the author's copy of " C4reen- 
wood, and Other Poems," which you so kindly 
left here for me. Mrs. Pelton informs me that 
you left it here on or about January 25. 

I was absent in England, or rather I sailed on 
January 25 (which will account for my not hav- 
ing received the poems). I was absent until the 
Sth of November last, therefore, my dear sir, 1 
hope you will hold me excused for delay in tend- 
ering 3^ou my very best thanks, and I look for- 
ward to great pleasure in the perusal of the 

poems. 

Remaining, 

Yours very truly, 

R. W. Cameron. 



LETTERS. 300 

From the Rev. John C. Eccleston, D.D., of St. 
John's Episcopal Church, Clifton, S. I. 

January 19, 1897. 

Many thanks, m v dear Mr. Pelton, for the very 
interestin<^ book of poems. I think your dear 
and admiraUe luife deserves the thanks of the 
Staten Island public for her desire to have the 
volume published. 

I am faithfully and affectionately yours, 

JouN C. Eccleston. 



New York, October 11, 1897. 
Daniel Pelton, Esq. : 

My Dear Friend : 
Your book, " Greenwood, and Other Poems," 
I received some time ago, and with much 
pleasure I have gone over the whole book. 
I have tried to find one that was above an- 
other in the book, but cannot. I find in each 
poem the character of Daniel Pelton, comforting 
the bereaved, always looking and pomting up- 
ward ; even for the poor dumb beast a kind 
word. I see in the book a feeling of awe at 
wrongdoing. I find in it a. joyous hope of a 



310 Li:TTERS. 

hereafter, a keen observer of the teachinirs of 
nature. Yes, all through I see the heartfelt 
thoughts of one that I have observed from vouno- 
manhood up ; and then I come back to the fly- 
leaf of the l)ook and see the name of the author 
in his own handwriting, then on the next page I 
see the author and she who is sunshine to him 
and his home ; then, again, on the next page, his 
picture, at whose feet I have often received in- 
struction. I believe, my dear brother and friend, 
that your good works follow you. Oh, that we 
had more such unselfish people in this grand 
world of ours ! I thank you, again and again, for 
the book, the autograpli, the ])icture, and your life. 
Yours cordially, 

James S. Coward. 



244 Lexington Avenue, New York. 

February 4, 1897. 
Dear Mr. Pelton : 

I have been waiting to thaidc you for sending 
me your book of ])oems until such time as I had 
leisure to read some of them, and examine them 
as a whole. In the first place, the title is a 
pretty one. "Greenwood" is a name so sug- 
gestive of shade and rest after the long, hot 
working day is over ; but our thoughts go beyond 
the earthly resting-place, and in your poem of 



LETTERS. 311 

" The Lamb of Calvary," you show where true 
and abiding rest is to be found. Among those of 
the poems which I have read I specially like 
" The Old Cruser Burying Place," " On the Death 
of Lily," " For the Orphans' Home," "The Curse 
of Intemperance," and "The Clove," That must 
mean the Staten Island Clove — what a paradise 
that used to be! Especially in the enrly spring, 
with the dogwood and cherry blossoms. One of 
your poems, I see, was written last September in 
the Catskills, and that makes me hope that you 
and Mrs. Pelton may be there again ne^t sum- 
mer, and that I may see you both at my little 
cottage. I send you by mail a photogra})h of it, 
with Mrs. Harrison on the piazza, and myself 
with " Pony " in the garden. With my very 
kind regards to Mrs. Pelton, and also to Miss 
Flake, not forgetting Pansy, and the two grey- 
hounds, 1 am. 

Most sincerely yours, 

Ann L. Livingston. 



West New Brighton, Staten Island, N. Y. 

March 10, 1897. 
My dkak ^[r. Pelton : 

After looking through the book of poems that 
you so kindly gave mo, I feel that I must thank 



312 LETTERS. 

you again. It is full of sweet thoughts that I am 
sure find an echo in every heart, to say nothing of 
the humor that crops out unexpectedly every 
once in a while. In addition to the poems you 
called my attention to, I like particularly the fol- 
lowing: "The Storm," page 129; " The Death 
of Child," page 145 ; " The Death of M. E. B. 
B.," page 150 ; " On Recovering from Sickness," 
page 1G4: "To Cupid," page ISl. I presume 
that as I continue to read I shall find others that 
I like equally as well. 

As you say in your preface that we owe the 
publication of this volume to Mrs. Pelton, I trust 
you will both accept my sincere thanks for you 
kind remembrance, and for the pleasure not only 
already derived from the volume, but also for the 
"continual feast" always found in a good book. 

Believe me, dear sir. 

Yours very gratefully, 

Katharine H. Hunt. 



From J. M. I'uller, Esq. 

Manor Road, W. N. B. 

• August 1st, 1897. 

My dear Mr. Pelton : 

" Greenwood, and Other Poems," reached me 
early last week. 



LETTERS. 313 

Please accept iny sincere thanks for same. I 
have not had tlie time to finish the book, but 
have read enough to convince me of its purity, 
both as to sentiment and metre. 

Poets are born, not made, and it is to be re- 
gretted that more of vour excellent tvpe are not 
born. Good poetry, like good plays, or good 
deeds, possess a hidden power — not seen, but 
felt. 

Kind words are like a rich perfume ; they are 
felt and remembered long after their authors 
have ceased to exist. So, in your case — tlie kind 
expressions contained in your Avork will burn as 
incense for ages to come. 

Again thanking you for the poems, 
I remain. 

Sincerely yours, 

J. M. Fuller. 
To Mr. Daniel Pelton, 

West New Brighton, 

Staten Island. 



Franklin and Prospect Avenues, New Brighton, S. I. 

July 12th, 1898. 
Daniel Peltox, Esq. : 

My Dear Sir, — To-day, for the first time, I have 
found time to look at your modest little volume 



314 LETTERS. 

of verse. To say that I am impressed and charmed 
by the variety and the strength ami the delicacy 
of your symbolized thoughts would but faintly 
ex]:)ress what I feeL I have ])laced your book 
on my shelf, side by side with the work of the 
good ever truth-teller, Walt AVhitman ; and when 
tired of playing " doll house," I shall take down 
" l>lades of Grass," or " Greenwood,'' and revel 
in thu trntli — truths which the Backwoodsman 
tells so bi-oadly and brutally, and which you tell 
so broadly and delicately. I should be grateful, 
my dear sir, if you would permit me to meet you 
again, I want to thank you, not for the book, 
but for the thoughts — my thoughts, too, some of 
them — expressed in symbols I could never have 
found. Sincerely, 

W. R. C. Latson, M. D. 



From Mr. John Eeid and Family. 

Trinity Place, West New Brighton, 

April 5tli, 1898. 

Daniel Pelton, Esq. : 

Dear Sir, — We take great pleasure in saying to 
you how great has been the satisfaction we have 
had in perusing your poetical meditations. 

AVe find in them much that is calculated to in- 



LETTERS. 315 

duce thoughtful reflection. "VVe like the deep 
religious tone pervading them, and they have the 
beauty and ring ol" true poetry. 

Accept our united thanks for the pleasure and 
profit received by your excellent work, and be- 
lieve us to be, 

Yours very truly, 

John Reid, 
Jane A. Heid, 
Marie G. Cochrane. 



From the Rev. J. G. Johnston. 

"The Rectory," Bloomfield, N, J., 

March 15, 1898. 

My Dear Mr. Pelton : 

I have been wanting for a long time to write 
you, not only thanking you for your kind gift, 
but also to tell you how I enjoyed the book of 
poems, and how many times during this winter 
has it brought summer's brightness and bloom to 
my mind ; being familiar with many of the scenes 
and persons you so charmingly write about, adds 
very much to the pleasure your book conveys. 
And I find myself turning often to the page 
whereon you remember dear Mrs. Basinger, Mr. 
Benedict's lovely daughter. And tlie lines ad- 



31 G LETTERS. 

dressed to your beautiful companion find a re- 
sponse in my own breast, for I cherisli the 
pleasant moments wherein 1 have met and con- 
versed with your charming wife. Please present 
my warmest regards to her, in which my wife 
most lieartily joins. And accepting for yourself 
my liigliest appreciation of your kindness and 
poetic ability, I am, dear Mr. Pelton, 
Yours etc., 

J. G. Johnston. 



From School Commissioner Mrs. Julia K. West. 

New Brighton, May 20, 1897. 
Dear Mr. Pelton : 

Thank you very much for your charming vol- 
ume of poems. 

With sincere appreciation of your courtesy, 
Yery truly yours, 

Julia K. West. 



Ravenhltist, S. I., Feb. 2. 1897. 

My dear Mr. Pelton : 

Please pardon my tardiness in acknowledging 
the receipt of a copy of your " Greenwood and 
Other Poems," with your autograph, which I 
value very highly. 



LETTERS. 317 

But more than that do I value your beautiful 

verses to the memory of Mrs. Basinger. I shall 

certainly keep tluit little book with my treasures. 

With many thanks, and ray kindest regards for 

yourself and Mrs. Pelton, I remain, 

Very truly yours, 

J. Gaenett Basinger. 



21 BoDiNE Street, West New BRiffiiTON, S. I., 

March 22, 1898. 
Daniel Pelton, Esq. : 

Dear Sir, — I have read to my wife your book 

of poems with delight and profit. They bespeak 

the language of a soul under the constraining 

love of the Master, whose teachings have been 

tested and found to be divine. Thanking you 

again for the gift, which I prize, I am, 

Yours sincerely, 

William Standerwick. 



Cherry Lane, Feb. 5, 1897. 
My dear Mr. Pelton : 

Thank you very much for the copy of your 
poems you were kind enough to leave for me in 
Duane street yesterday. 



318 LETTERS. 

I prize the gift very highly, and promise myself 
very inucli pleasure from its })eriisal. 

That the author is one whom I have known 
and esteemed so long lends additional value to 
the book, and will add to the zest with which I 
shall make myself acquainted with its contents. 

By the way, in glancing over it hastily I have 
come across two lines, addressed by you to some 
one else, which I will venture to a})pl3' to you 
personally : 

" Fortune, oft false, was not to him untrue ; 
And fame, unsought, a wreath upon him threw." 

Tiiat the first line of the couplet applies per- 
fectly, your dedication is proof sufficient; that 
the second may prove equally applicable is the 
sincere wish of, 

Yours very truly, 

CuAs. W. Kennedy. 

Daniel Pelton, Esq., AVest New Brighton. 



New York, March 19, 1898. 
Daniel Pelton, Esq. : 

My dear Friend — Permit me to thank you 
for the very handsome copy of 3'our poems. 

I read them and re-read with much inter- 



LETTERS. 310 

est, and often find much rest, for after that the 
busy toils of the (hiy are over, I like to walk in 
the paths they portend. 

1 am indeed yours truly, 

AValtek T. Elliott. 



Mariners Harbor, March 23, 1897. 

Daniel Pelton, Esq. 
My dear Sir : 

After careful and meditative ]ierusal of your 
"Greenwood, and Other Poems" I am impressed 
that the author has produced a collection of 
poems well deserving commendations of all lovers 
of poetry. 

Coj)iously abounding in poetic imagery, em- 
bracing i-n its scope, variety of theme, comprising 
the thorn and the flower — the grave and the gay 
— the doomed and the saved — enlivening the 
present and insi)iring a buoyant ]ioj)e of a glorious 
immortality beyond. 

Like a cluster of brilliants, it is futile for me 
to attempt to select the one that sparkles bright' 
est. 

From " Greenwood " — 

" Where art to nature lend a moulding hand, 
And grassy verdure cai'pets all the land," 



320 LETTERS. 

to the finis — it is evident that the invoked muse 
has not been unmindful of tlie poet's prayer. 

Allow me to congratulate ]\[rs. Pelton on her 
good fortune in having the companionship of one 
who has succeeded in producing so masterly a 
work — she may well be proud of " Greenwood, and 
Other Poems." 

This cherished volume shall have a place in 
my library next to " Ilcrvey's Meditations among 
the Tombs,"—" Flower Garden "— " Starry Hea- 
vens." 1 regard the two volumes as congenial 
companions : while one is eloquent in prose — 
the other is elevating and entrancing in verse. 
Yours freely and sincerely, 

IIOKATIA T. HeRVEY. 



From Capt. Jack Crawford. 

Saturday, Dec. 5th, 1897. 

Dear Mrs. Pelton : 
I am so sorry I had to l)e away on the occasion 
of you all having a good time. But that is my 
luck. I would have been in ray element — with 
the friends of Burns. I should have written Mr. 
Pelton, too, ere this, but I am ashamed to say I 
have not read more than half of his simple and 



LETTERS. 321 

beautifully natural Trui/ts in rhj'thm. He gets 
very close to nature, and then hugs her. AVell, I 
don't blame him— I've been there myself, but in 
some things Mr. Pelton has got the best of me. 
While I am compelled to be far away from home, 
and home endearments, he is mixed up forever 
and ever with a great bunch of refined sweetness, 
and three square meals ; while I am like a Will-o' 
the-wisp flitting, flitting all the time. Give the 
dear old heart my kindest regards. And regret- 
ting exceedingly that I could not have been with 
you, believe me ever and always. 

Yours, in clouds or sunshine, 

Capt, Jack Crawford. 

P. S. — I talked to 1000 people in Albany a week 
ago ; Papers said I was the best circus of the 
season. 

Off for Mass., Monday, 

Capt. Jack Crawford, 
The Western Scout Poet. 



New York, Jan. 35th, 1897. 

Dear Mr. Pelton : 
Thank you ver}' much for your volume of 
Poems, — shall read them carefully as soon as I 
am able. The likeness of yourself and wife in the 



3:22 LETTERS. 

frontispiece are most excellent — it must liave 
been pleasant work for you both to have gathered 
them together for publication. Am glad to hear 
that you are keeping well — be careful, the weather 
is very cold. 

With kind regards to Mrs, Pelton. 
Ver}'^ truly yours, 

Maky M. Greenfield. 



"West New Brighton, February 10th, 1897. 

Mr. Pelton, 

Dear Sir : 
Please accept my thanks, and the thanks of my 
wife for the very interesting volume of your 
Poems you so kindly sent me, 

I had no idea we had such a versatile writer in 
our midst. Believe me I shall treasure it all 
the more, knowing that you have sent them 
only to your personal friends ; the pictures of 
yourself and Mrs, Pelton are particularly life- 
like. 

I am. Sir, 

Yours very truly, 
Samuel Henshaw. 



LETTERS. 323 

From A. A. Mackeen, M. D. 

Whitman, Mass., July 10th, 1898. 
Mr. Daniel Pelton. 
Dear Sir : 

I have delayed the acknowledgment of your 
volume of Poems (so kindly presented to me in 
person) till I had read them at my leisure. Hav- 
ing done so I can really thank you for having 
given me so much pleasure. Were I a critic I 
might analyze. Put not being so I can sim})ly say 
that they have all given me pleasure. 

Please give Mrs. Pelton my kindest remem- 
brance, and say to her that I am happy in the 
thought that this week Blanch and her parents 
will pass through Whitman, and will stay a day 
or so with me. 

Again tlumking you for the volume, which I 

prize highly. 

I am, dear Sir, 

Yours very truly, 

A. A. Mackeen. 

From Mrs. Clara Hill, 

Jersey City, Nov. 2Gth. 1898. 
Dear Mr. Pelton : 
Please accept my best thanks for the kind re- 
membrance of the book (mtitled " Greenwood." I 



334 LETTERS. 

have read it with pleasure, and you, my dear cou- 
sin, being the author of it, makes it doubly ])recious 
to me. I hope yourself and Sophie are enjoying 
good health. I am going to make you and 
Sophie a visit soon, will let you know wlien I am 
coming if j>ossible. Kindly give my love to 
Sophie, and believe me, 

Your sincere cousin, 

Claka Hill. 



27th August, 1898. 
My dear Mr. Pelton : 
I thank you very much for the book, I have 
read the verses in it with a great deal of pleasure, 
and I hope profit. You are well versed in iiuman 
nature, and no one could read " Detached 
thoufjht '' without findinfj' much there to com- 
fort in time of trial, and encourage to one's 
best effort. I do liope you will send a copy to 
the " AVinter Library " at the Staten Island Acad- 
emy. 

Again thanking you, 

I am yours sincerely, 

Davison Brown. 
To Mr. Daniel Pelton. 



LETTERS. 325 

West New Brighton, Staten Island, May 23, 1897. 

Me. Daniel Pelton, dear Sir, and Mrs. Pelton 
TOUR dear AVife. 
I take this method to thank you most sincerely 
for your beautiful book of select Poems, and 
really think there is a great honor due to the 
author, for it will bring sunshine, comfort, and 
happiness to many homes, when published, and 
give enjoyment to the lovers of your beautiful 
poems. 

Yours sincerely, 

William F. Kennedy. 



January 18, 1897. 
My dear Mr. Pelton : 

Having just iiad time to look over the lovely 
book of poems wliicli you so kindly gave me yes- 
terday, please accept my warmest thanks for 
your gift, and. be assured of my appreciation of 
yours and Mrs. Pelton's gracious manners towards 
me at all times. Thanking you both for coming 
to St. John's to hear the musical service. 

With kindest regards believe me very sincerely 
yours, 

Thomas Birtwistle. 
64 First Avenue, 

Fort Hill, New Brighton. 



336 LETTERS. 

January 25, 1897. 
My dear Mr. Pelton : 

Please accept our thanks for the kind thought- 
fulness that prompted j^ou to remember us with 
your beautiful book — that we enjoy it, f^oes with- 
out saying, and we hope the author and his hol|> 
mate may live many years to reap the benelit 
thereof. 

Please tell Sophia to come and sec me when 
she can. I should enjoy having you come also, but 
being somewhat of an invalid now I fear you 
would find it tiresome this cold weather. 

Again thanking j^ou both for your book, 
I am, cordially yours, 

AvA L. Peene. 



St. Thomas, Ontario, Canada, April 30, 1898. 

Dear Sir : 

I have to acknowledge with much pleasure the 
favor of your book of poems. 

It came on the 28th inst., since which time I 
have been unable to give it much attention. I 
assure you, however, from just glancing it over, 
and reading a very few of the poems, lam pleased 
to say I must congratulate 3^ou as the author of 



LETTERS. 327 

50 fine a selection, without attempting to flatter, 
tliat being out of mind completely. I must con- 
fess, with great pleasure, I a]ipreciate your work 
and feel confident tiiat, while it will compare 
favorably with very many of the best autiiors, it 
is far above a host of those whose ])roductions are 
offered for sale. 

I am highly pleased with the sentiment that to 
my mind involves those of your productions I 
have read. I will prize the present, with pi'ofound 
pleasure, because of its intrinsic value, ami also 
from whom I received it. AVhile I have not tlie 
pleasure of your acquaintance, Mrs. Moore, as 
well as myself, are acquainted witii your most 
estimable wife, anil we feel proud of her as one 
of our most sincere friends. AVe appreciate her for 
iier noble qualities, and at all times think of her 
as a superior lady whose friendshi|) is most 
charming. I take the liberty of suggesting (for 
which I trust you will pardon me), that I have a 
slight suspicion that you have been to some ex- 
tent benefited by Mrs. Pelton's most genial and 
])leasant temperament and pleasingly inventive 
mind. It is not only her voice and beautiful face 
that are attractive, but it is her pleasing and in- 
structive manners. With your wife to prompt 
and suggest, I have no doubt you would be able 
to grasp many sentimental ideas that would 



328 LETTERS. 

assist you in your noble work. The influence 
from reading your poems is most powerful and 
good. 

I thank you kindly, equally for my wife as 
for myself, for this valuable gift. Mrs. IVIoore 
is just now visiting our daughter in Madison, 
Wisconsin. 

On her return I will request her to write to 
your dear wife, and at the same time convey to 
you her gratitude for the joint gift I am quite 
certain she will value highly. 

1 trust you will overlook the extreme length 
of this letter, but I cannot allow this opportunity 
to pass without expressing, through you, dear 
sir, to your dear wife the thanks of the Moores 
for the many and pleasing evidences of her f i-iend- 
ship to us as a family, as well as to the different 
members, — all have been the recipients of tokens 
of friendship for many years, and I regret to say 
■we all feel that we have not reciprocated as Ave 
should have done. We all would feel highly 
honored witli a visit from yourself and Mrs. 
Pelton, whenever you feel that it will be conve- 
nient ; and if you allow us an opportunity to en- 
tertain you I assure you we will endeavor to con- 
vince you of our earnestness of friendship by our 
hospitality. 

Trusting I may have the pleasure of meeting 



LETTERS. 329 

you in the near future, I have the honor to sub- 
scribe myself. 

Yours most respectfully and sincerely . 

K. W. Moore. 
Daniel Pelton, 

West New Brighton, 
Staten Island, K. Y. 



From J. Ebeehakd Faber. 

West New Brighton, March 22, 1897. 

My Dear Mr. Pelton : 

I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your book 
of poems, " Greenwood," for which I thank you 
most sincerely. 

I have not had much leisure to read it, but was 
very much interested. I had no idea that your 
talent ran in this direction, and Mrs. Faber and I 
will take great pleasure in reading it together. 

Kindly excuse my neglect in not acknowledging 
your kind gift before, but having been away in 
Lakewood I did not hav^e the opportunity before 
now. 

With many thanks and kindest regards, 
Yery sincerely yours, 

J. Eberhaed Fabek. 



330 LETTERS. 

From Miss Laura A. Barrett. 

West New Briohton, 3, 25, '97. 

Dear Mr. Pelton : 

I wish to send my sincere thanks for tlie book 
you have so kindly sent me, the thought that 
prompted ycju to wisli I shoukl possess these 
poems you liave wi-itten with so much feeling and 
sentiment, and which I am enjoying. 
With many thanks, 

I am sincerely yours, 

Laura A. Barrett. 



From Cousin John AV. Pelton, Poughkeepsie. 

254 Mill St., N. Y., Sept. 30, 1898. 

Daniel Pelton, Esq. 

Esteemed Friend : 
I have just returned from a trip to the White 
Mountains and find awaiting me a beautiful co|)y 
of your poems. Allow me to express m}-^ a})- 
preciation of your kindness, and to assure you 
that I shall esteem the book as a valued gift. I 
have not as yet had time to peruse the poems, but 
the value of the gift is enhanced by the noble 
picture of yourself and your sweet wife whom we 



LETTERS. 331 

are glad to say wa met at 791 De Kalb Av., 
Brooklyn. 

Our kind regards for yourself and wife. 
Sincerely yours, 

John AV. Pelton. 



From Mrs. Eliza A. Gould, 

Livingston, Bard Av., S. I. 

January 6, 1897. 
Daniel Pelton. 

My dear Friend : 
I have just returned home, and find the book 
you so kindly left for me. I have looked through 
it, and so far have enjoyed it very much. I will 
call to express my thanks for it in a few days, 
and believe me with sincere thanks. 
Your friend, 

Eliza A. Gould. 



From Miss Jessie McClellan, 

65 Park Av., N. Y. City. 

January 4, 1898. 
My dear Mr. Pelton, 

I have been out of the city for the holidays, 
and on my return hasten to acknowledge your 
book of beautiful poems, I shall read it with 



332 LETTERS. 

great pleasure, and treasure it for sake of the kind 
giver. It was so lovely of you to remember me. 
Wishing you and dear Sophie tlie conipllnientsof 
the season, and hoping this will explain the cause 
of my apparent negligence. 
I remain. 

Cordially yours, 

Jessie McClellan. 



No. 43 West 99th Street. 

New York, Nov. 17, 1897. 
Dear Sir, 

Allow me to thank you most sincerely for 
your kindness in sending me a copy of your 
poems. I assure you they will be read, and re- 
read until I am enabled to form, and express if 
necessary, an opinion regarding them. At the 
present time I am very busy, and have only had 
time to take a glance through your book, but 
even that glance showed me some things wiiich 
pleased me much, and which struck a responsive 
chord. Thanking you again for your kindness, and 
I am yours truly, 

JouN Thomson. 
Daniel Pelton, Esquire, 

West New Brighton, 
Staten Island, X. Y. 



LETTERS. 333 

From Mrs. Ida Moore Morris. 

Madison, Wis., Feb. 10, 1897. 
My Dear Mr. Pklton : 

Your beautiful gift came to us tliis iiionHiic-. 
Many, nuiiiy thanks. I liave been with you two 
hours ; only took time to put our precious 
Kathi-yn to sleep. I read a good many of them 
aloud to our sister Lassie. Her first wish was 
" that our blessed mother had a copy too." How 
she would enjoy it ! Auntie told me Sunday 
that she had received one and was delighted with 
it. I feel we can never repay you both for all 
you have done for us in many ways. I shall 
never forget my choice visit at your home, and 
the jolly time we had, also the dear old Macaw. 
I hope you can come to INIadison ; we would en- 
joy a visit so much. Must have Sophie again, 
too. With much love, 

Affectionately, 

Ida. 



Moiris's Memorial History 
of Staten Island. 

West New Brighton, N. Y., July 38, 1897. 

Daniel Pelton, Esq. : 

Esteemed Friexd — Your very kind favor would 

have been acknowledged sooner had your book 



334 LETTERS. 

not arrived during my absence. I promise my- 
self some very pleasant hours in its perusal, and 
in advance thank you for the profit I shall re- 
ceive. AVith kindest regard, 

Very truly yours, 

Ika K. MOKRIS. 



From Miss Ida Carson, 

Port Richmond, N. Y., March 8, 1898. 

Dear Mr. Pelton : 

On this, my birthday, I take my pen in hand 
to write a tardy note of appreciation of your 
book of poems ; better late than never. I think 
I hear in my mind both you and yours, wishing 
me " many returns." 

It is a beautiful day and I am going to spend 
the afternoon of it up in New Springville, my birth- 
place, and in the evening attend the wedding of 
a friend, at eight o'clock, in the Ileformcd church, 
and so I expect to spend a pleasant birthday. 
And now no more about self, except to say one 
reason for not sending this before to you is I 
have been so busy singing here, there and all 
over, that I have had but little time to give to 
writing. T enjoyed es])ccially in your book 
" Detached Thoughts," " Charlotte Canda," " The 



LETTERS. 335 

Setting Star," " The Battle of Inkermann," and 
all those " to Sophie," of course, I enjoyed im- 
mensely. Yours is a great gift, and especially so 
in that you give so much pleasure to others — 
those who have been so fortunate as to possess the 
book in which flow your good, lovely, expressive 
thoughts. Please say to Mrs. Pelton she never 
sang°V)etter in her life, and I tender my congra- 
tulations here. I had to leave before she finished 
for I had a rehearsal that night at the Harbor. 
Sorry I could not speak with you also. 
Very truly your friend, 

Ida Cakson. 



From Henry Y. Pelton, Esq. 

POUGHKEEPSIE, N. Y., Oct. 1st, 1898. 

My pear Mr. Pklton : 

I wish to thank you for the copy of your poems 
which you so kindly sent. I am glad to possess 
them, and shall be much interested in reading 

them. 

I am sorry the two branches of our family have 

met so seldom in the year past. I was glad that 

Mrs. Peltcm made a little call on us. And hoj:>e 

that we shall be able to return it before very long. 

Very sincerely yours, 

Henry Y. Pelton. 



336 LETTEHS. 

From Mks. Mary E. Moore. 

St. Thomas. Ont., June 3, 1898. 

My dear Mr. and Mrs. Peltox : 

Well, you may imagine my surprise and delight 
when I Kcturned home and found 3'our beautiful 
book — many, many thanks ! It was kind and 
sweet of you, to rcmenilK'r us so kindly — and I 
have read it with great pleasure ; and more than 
all I love to look at those dear faces, one of which 
I have loved ever since I knew her, and in the 
otlier you seethe inspired look which all younger 
people venerate, admire and love, — we only wish 
we could know you better, — can you two not 
visit us this summer, we have a beautiful home 
spot — the beautiful spot of the town. And I am 
sure you could enjoy a little time with us. And 
we would be more than pleased to have you 
come. 

!Mrs. l^^orton, Mrs. Ermazinger, and others 
often ask after you. Mrs. McDougall spoke very 
kindly of you, likes you very much, how could 
she help it ! "With best love to you both, and 
wishing you may have many years of happi- 
ness. 

I am your loving friend, 

Mary E. Moore. 



LETTERS. 337 

From ]\Irs. Ida Moore Morris. 

Madison, Wis., Jan. 14, 1898. 
Dear Mr. Pelton : 

Many, many bappy returns of the ilay. To 
think you are eiglity years okl, and seem about 
fifty, so well and happy and contented. AVliat 
a perfect life you have led ! 

We often say if we could see you and our jire- 
cious Sopliie. "When are you coming AVest ? 

Our latch-string is a very long one, and I trust 
you will try and find it. Sophie has always 
been the dearest friend I ever bad. We all love 
her. Our little Kathryn tells our friends when she 
sees your picture that you are her "other pre- 
cious Grandpapa." She is the little sunbeam in 
our home. 

The beautiful life you live keeps you young 
in heart, and makes otliers better for having 
known 3'ou. I shall never forget our choice 
visit and the happy days Ave spent with you 
before you married Sophie, and how we all loved 
you. 

Trusting you may see many more happy birth- 
days. Believe me, most devotedly, 
Your friend, 

Ida Moore Morris. 



338 LETTERS. 

From Mrs. Katharine Ungrich. 

New York, Jan. 20, 1897. 
My Dear i\rR. Pelton : 

Please- accej)t many thanks for the present you 
generously sent to me by Louise. I am delighted, 
and shall ever appreciate your kindness. Read- 
ing your poems afford me great pleasure. Thank- 
ing you again. 

I am very sincerely, 

Katharine Ungrich. 



Ravenhurst, Feb. 22, 1897. 
Dear Friend : 

Mr. Pelton — When your dear wife came into 
my room yesterday like the eml)odiinent of 
the bright wintry sunshine, cheering us all by 
her presence, I could not halt' express the grati- 
tude I felt for the book you have so kindly given 
me. 

It will be a lasting joy, as I shall read, and re- 
read it slowly. ]\Ir. Piirkman and I both aj)pre- 
ciate the verses written in memor^^ of our precious 
Helen very, very much. 

While this small gilt-edged volume " Green- 
wood " shall hold its place of honor next my 
Tennyson, and Longfellow, the idols of my earlier 



LETTERS. 339 

years, believe me it will occupy a higher place in 
iny esteem, and have a keener interest to my 
husband and me, because of the fact that we have 
known and loved the author. 

Very sincerely ^ours, 

Ella Benedict Bukkman. 



New York, March 17th, 1899. 
Dear Mr. Pelton : 

Many thanks for the book of poems you kindly 
sent me by Mrs. Pelton. I have not had much 
time for perusal. I shall take much pleasure in 
my evenings " at home " with same. Please 
accept my warmest thanks, and believe me, 

Sincerely yours, 

D, A. Anderson. 



131, Johnson St., Brooklyn, N. Y., May 15, 1899. 
Mr. Pelton, 
Dear Sir, 
Only a few words to say that I found your book 
most beautiful and hope that you will pardon me 
for not writing to you sooner ; but I have been 
very busy of late, and any spare time I had I 
took great pleasure in reading it, as your dear 
wife asked me to select a few pieces from it, 



340 LETTERS. 

indeed it is hard f(jr me to do so, as I think every 
verse in it is most beautiful ami also to know the 
author so well. In looking through it I have found 
a few ])ieees I like very much, such as pages 41, 
130, 137, 141, 142, also page 3. Indeed I cannot 
explain to you kow thankful I am to you foi-yoiir 
gift. I will kee]) it carefully, and every time I will 
read it I will think of you and your dear wile. 
Hoping that you will rememl)er me to her, and 
hoping that she is feeling better than the last 
time I saw her, as I have nothing more to say at 
present. 

I remain, friend, 

Annie Mokau 



July 11, 1899. 
Mr. Daniel Pelton, 

West New Brighton, S. I. 
]\rv Dear Sir: — 
I wish to thank you for your remembrance in 
sending me your volume of poetry, which I have 
not yet had time very much to read, but have 
thus far been pleased to note the excellent senti- 
ments which it contains and which are so well 
expressed in verse. 

Yours very truly, 

G. G. Williams. 



H 13 89 
















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